The Path Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

Called upon, and the self does not exist,
Whoever erred, lest a tale of heart -
A tree bends down and no one ever
Knew; what ailed the hollowed trunk.
The little acts, counting stars, a child’s play
The path is straight; ‘you’ do not exist.

Selfless, the artist, burns his oil
Creation shall speak, like the invisible god’s.
Aloof, assign any name, neither born
Nor gives birth. A lonesome presence:
On the other hand, to tell a tale
Is falling from grace and nothing else.

Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
December 11,2013.

Self Portrait, Vincent van Gogh @ HowStuffWorks