Don'T Sweep The Road O Woman! Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Who is your son, who is father,
Whose mother are you, whose daughter?
You get up from bed before sun
Don't sweep the road O woman!

Your clothes are torn; cold wind runs fast
You saved nothing in young, long past?
You always work, rain or hot sun
Don't sweep the road O woman!

Scattered your hair, loaded with dust
Mindless of yourself, work you must,
In world populous, you seem one.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

You seem to be talking with broom
Lost in deep grief caused by some doom,
Long game of life you have not won.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

Sound of broom music to thy dirge,
Wind ridicules with rising surge,
Dust dancing around makes your fun.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

Man's mother in deep anxiety
Home's grace in civil society
No matter Muslim or christian.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

Fallen a prey to class distinction,
What you do is not your function,
Humanity must be man's religion.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

When I pass by thee silently
My heart is turtured endlessly,
So much I want to say, but say none.
Don't sweep the road O woman!

You give me a great prescription
Sweep ways of life, control passion
Even all things you mention,
Don't sweep the road O woman!