We disappear, we perish,
The silent wings carry us.
There is a fountain, in the ocean.
The ascension steps are easier.
Once the ground of a thousand years,
Of age is covered. There is no respite.
As we lift the lid from the pot,
The water is evaporated into steam.
It goes nowhere, it rains back.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
February 11,2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem