He brought alms;
My earthen pot had a Venus's image.
My grandmother to the stone mill of hand
Poured much and as much poured to her hens.
I, for my self pity, hung a rope on my door.
They would come for alms, and now they return.
My upper hand has become my lower hand.
Now tell me my gain.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
February 8,2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A looser or what let me know sir