A veil of mist clung to the ancient willow tree, its weeping branches casting/draped/falling over a tranquil/still/serene pool. The air hummed/buzzed/sang with an unseen energy, and faint/soft/subtle whispers seemed to drift/float/wander on the breeze. Some said/believed/claimed these were the voices of long-lost/forgotten/ancient spirits, seeking/

زندگی کی یہی رُوئے گا'، جس کا سچا رنگ ہر گز نہیں چھپ سکتا۔ ہر ایک شخص اس خوابوں میں عشق کو دیکھتا ہے، پر کچھ یہ حقیقت سے دور رہتا ہے۔ انسانیت کا مخزن عشق کے خوابوں کا پر ان خوابوں ہمیشہ کھو �

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