Some Shapes Of Octagon-I Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

I had been looking, in the steamiest of the corners,
The multicolored glass windows. Some shapes of octagon.
In mud walls. Pulling a ram into the dusty street. There were three,
Youths. That was the shanzelize of the village. Their knees were
Rubbing against the mud; and like a camel would sit, before it gets up.
A white dog was following us. A hallow of a shadow wanting to hide,
From the moon that was just on tenth of the month. The wall was standing.
In the air. The shop, lit by a lantern was selling candies. This was neither good,
Nor bad. It was three thousand years ago. And it is now. They were grown.
Learned. Contented. With honest smiles. It is said, 'They do not possess evil eye'
The earth and the skies have always been generous. This youthful innocence, Buddha said,
Had been his vision of nibhana. He had a vision of himself in a lap under a tree.
The shape of the octagon is setting into some illusions. Moving like a celestial alien object.
On a magician's finger. When visited by a lotus, can you guess what it would add?
It was moving and revolving. There are more dreams to come.

On a visit to village Korai, Dera Ismail Khan; late in the evening.

Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
November 3,2012