Hills gone dwarfs, bridges small
O mighty soul, gather not pieces from past,
The day's a new shine, conquer mind's barbed wire.
From the eminent rot, an apricot flowers,
The sun pulls up water, driven by miller, the under duct,
Lined willow trees, mulberry, which were eaten by drought.
These walls have been broken open, demolished
‘I heard another dialect', of the harder one.
No doubt they steal your beauty,
But abundance hath nonce been diminished.
Some have gone deeper into the earth,
To spring up like cypresses, tall and distant,
Others may sow flowers, burgundy, with blue leaves.
Beauty is in stones, in watershed long channels;
And wild monkeys, eating up corn in the fields.
Grapes have been wiped out by wasps, their leaves remain -
And feet have the coloration of wet mud.
There is no place to sleep in the cemetery by the dead, or
Drink from fountain, a muddy water-sprinkled room for siesta.
-On my visit to Wana, South Waziristan, August 12-14,2014.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
August 18,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem