All love at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until ‘tis fine;
But when ‘tis settled on the lee,
And from th’ impurer matter free,
Become the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasanter the colder.
Kuch Umer Ki Pehli Manzil Thi, …. Kuch Raste Thay Anjan Buhat, …. Kuch Ham Bhi Pagal Thay Lekin, …. Kuch Wo Bhi Thay Nadan Buhat, …. Kuch Usne Bhi Na Samjhaya, …. Yeh Piyar Nahi Aasan Buhat, …. Aakhir Hamne Bhi Khail Liya, …. Jis Khail Mein Thay Nuqsan Buhat
Love is like a missed-call It stops before you catch it But Friendship is like an "SMS" It comes to you inbox and stay Whenever you read it It makes you happy and this stay in your inbox until you delete it