I made it a habit on my journey never, so far as possible, to cover a second time any road that I had once travelled. Ibn Batuta
You are the wind passing by,
Master of age, and when you sleep,
You dream the exotica. You take me,
From where the emotions of fragrant
Veils lift the corners, and at night
Instead to supp, they tend aromas.
Or your name is seller’s and buyer’s
Mall of today’s plastered bazaars.
But you warn, Simoom winds will make,
You perish, or you meet hospitable
Ruins and the princes who after warfare
Take you to hospices, and the abodes,
Of men of extreme piety guarding cities
Or people of agreeable sweetness,
Or women weeping after the departing guests.
Sadiqullah Khan
Gilgit
June 5,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem