Habits make you perfect, Dmitri,
Konstantine Keranin broke his knuckles,
Now and then, and the magnificent Count,
While he flew on horseback with Anna
Whose neck she saw broken and her eloquent eyes,
Rolled back. They were about to go on fox-hunt.
The groomed elegance of picking caviar
Slowly walking down with a stick and tail-coat.
Dreaming chords on piano and savoring cadences,
Silent breathing of the saint, reclining to a camel
And her hands twisted in textured warmth
Of the palms, lips squeezed into honey.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
February 7,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Woah this is abstract and sublime! Extraordinary poem! Great to read you again.