You had the spill from the cup,
Page was ash and words aflame.
Inebriation, mystic chant and drum.
Friends and foes, be the cup bearers,
Pulpits would need firmament's strength.
Red was color of the rose and tulip's
Heart red. Nothing other but wine red.
The enchanted self like zephyr returned.
Love's mysterious fables unwound,
The solitary lover like wick burned.
What magic, the tongue would speak.
The calligrapher's hand would it mold.
The sculpted damsel, was a memory,
To the wall, wide eyed beauty hung.
When all was ablaze, love he sung.
To an unknown poet of Pashto language.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
February 7,2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem