12
Have I wounded your sentiment yesterday by mistake?
No words are spoken today, even never be it spoken
How far will the treasure of words face to face drive us?
To see him struck by a finger what will he say, does he say anything?
Still is he living, or is he dead, living and dying appears same?
Or he by throwing the rejected slough on the pyre
Only weaves flashes on outpourings, blue dance!
Dumb-founded words desired to live a short life
Wanted their pronouncements turning round
From nineteen hundred ninety will raise their face at yours, People say
`Well, let me go, again we will meet,-where our meet may occur?
Is there any address? Any information of it? Any pretension?
Then how will you tell him to come, to sing and live
Gandharbo, you are also keeping mum lowering your head!
17
The hooves of the horse got stuck in the soil, stand here
In the desert of Karbala forgetting the path to Kufa!
The axe is stained with trees blood and loud cries in holes
Sand in the chest of ether has been flown away by the gust of wind.
You must understand future as it is as clear as water, today
None would allow your lips to touch a drop of water.
This is the brink and thinking this as the last boundary
How the path forgotten and so many man-studded vehicles at a time?
The bank of the Euphrates was dotted with corpses, upsurge of water,
Your time draws to its end, still time is endless.
Leaving behind the martyrs, look at the tents
Duldul without its rider alone running fast
Its white body was carrying hundreds of wounded marigolds-
Still it is not dead; it leaves behind some of its signs crafted.
Gazi Abdulla-helBaqui is a poet, translator, researcher and academician
