The Mold I Am Made Of-
O yes, that's 'the mold I am made of''...
A candle, a grandeur
A moth is known by the flame
By beauty, a lover’s worth;
Rocky mountain, a single tree
The peaks rugged dry and green
Washed salts from the face
Drinking murky waters of the pond
Or from under the earth, crystal sweet.
Ah! The violence in me is dead
Violence in air, in love, violence
In battle, in hatred.
In eyes, on beating a drum
Violence in celebration,
The violent cuts of nature, behind
And under violent stones lie the dead.
Small shrunk evenings, long days
To the hedges, sheep run
Milk in the jars, rivers of blood;
A child points at the moon, barks a dog.
The rise is a sea-saw’s sliced wooden piece
We had a sunset’s longing
We were rising to drown in rain’s water.
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Comments about this poem (The Mold I Am Made Of- by Sadiqullah Khan )
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