Beneath the Persian moon's soft glow,
A tale of love, both high and low.
Mehran and Layla, hearts entwined,
Yet destiny's threads proved unkind.
Through Shiraz's lanes, their love did bloom,
A fragrant rose, a sweet perfume.
Mehran, a poet, Layla his muse,
In verses, their passion would diffuse.
But fate, a cruel and silent guide,
Led Mehran to a distant tide.
Layla wept in shadows cast,
Love's echo, a whisper from the past.
Mehran, in battles, faced his strife,
A soldier bound to country's life.
Letters written, inked in pain,
Conveyed a love that waned in vain.
News arrived, a mournful bell,
Layla's heart in a somber spell.
Mehran, lost to war's cruel dance,
Left Layla in a melancholic trance.
Beneath the ancient cypress tree,
Layla mourned, her soul set free.
In the Persian night, a lone dove cries,
Echoing love's bitter goodbyes.
Their names engraved on scrolls of fate,
Mehran and Layla, a tragic weight.
In Isfahan's garden, where roses weep,
Rests a love story, eternally deep.