The Garden In Griefs Poem by AFFAQ NABI

When the ghostess says that she didn't invent the fatal virus,
I don't trust her, and we all know that she always lies.
She has a perception about you that you are a stupid guy,
Over ten million people lie forever asleep to this day.
The entire garden is in grief, and the nightingale is mute.
On a branch, revealing his signs of cool disdain.
And the same reply is coming out of the pale moon.
Alas, I fell on the wayside on some grass. O my sklls
This worry deepens every night and day. by this
Ghastly plague and the heavy price we pay,
Honestly speaking, I lapsed into the stuff of life,
Now, I can't hold more things of the strife.