In the garden of words, where whispers bloom,
Amir Khusro dances, dispelling gloom.
His pen, a brush, painting loveâs embrace,
Across the canvas of time and space.
Mystic winds carry his soulful song,
Echoing tales of right and wrong.
The Sufiâs heart in verses spun,
A journey begun, never truly done.
Stars weep gently in the skyâs embrace,
As Khusroâs rhymes find their destined place.
In each syllable, a world unfurls,
Of ancient dreams and forgotten pearls.
His legacy, a bridge through time,
Uniting hearts with rhythm and rhyme.
A beacon in the nightâs soft glow,
Guiding seekers to the truth they know.