In the garden of words where Khusro walked,
Lush with tales of love and sight,
His pen danced with the moonlight’s grace,
Crafting worlds in the silent night.

The rivers sang his rhymes along,
With whispers soft, in winds they flew,
Each verse a bridge to hearts unknown,
Binding souls with threads anew.

His words, a tapestry woven fine,
Of colors rich and stories deep,
A legacy of love and lore,
In every heart his dreams do sleep.

So let us walk this path he paved,
With echoes of his gentle song,
In Khusro’s world we find our way,
Where art and love forever belong.