A Monologue Of A King In The Grave Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

“I have no means to measure the moments of time,
I don’t know whether years passed or centuries,
It is pitch dark and stifling here,
I am underneath the heavy stones,
Too heavy to move aside,
Maggot have eaten my flesh long ago,
Merely skeleton has left behind,
Only the brave have courage to look at me,
My head is skinless; it has no eyes, no lips
Only my teeth are there to grin
A set of ribs and bones of legs are to mock
At my strength, nothing more is left behind.
Though it is hard for me to move extremities,
And speak yet I feel as I used to when alive.

When I was alive, I wore royal costumes,
Lived in the palace with no worry or wound,
Everything was at my command,
Moved with movements of my lips and hands,
I had forces to defend me and my lands,
And several agencies to attend on me,
The powerful flattered, sought my pleasure,
When I moved in my territory,
My head was puffed with pride,
Each night a new dame perfumed my bed,
I was lascivious and lived on potential herbs.

Now I lie helpless, as powerless as a piece of wood,
Or a lump of earth, I listen to the sounds of hooves
As if my grave is flattened, unattended,
I don’t have any longing but to see just once,
A few beams of the sun, or of the moon,
The blue colour of the sky, or a piece of floating cloud,
I crave for a few gust of fresh air, or listen to
A twitter of a sparrow sitting in thick mulberry.
Listen to me, if someone is there, listen to me.”