Love, taken on their day of joining,
Undone the many vows they said.
Weeping nymphs, silent gods,
A lyre playing for the sorrow of the dead.
Fingers pointed to the underworld,
So from the living he departed,
The river Styx, nor its quiet dread,
Would have him from love parted.
But the cold silence of death was firm,
His songs were of no use,
Orpheus now silenced by tears,
What is music without one’s muse?
Salman Shahid Khan