Pick the thread, invent the jargons,
‘Get syndicated', boxed,
Your office is ‘workshop'
Sleep on paper. Drink black coffee.
Out of your cheeky living. Bourgeois habits.
Havana cigar, and eat grass.
Instead of ‘they', the reactionaries,
Hanging to status quo, the dead wood.
The changing sway, ‘revolutionaries'
Be prepared for the gallows.
Meetings after the mid-night
Flaring Rosa Luxemburgs.
Middle class intellectuals -the vanguard,
Sharpened wits, - economists and political scientists
Journalists and the fourth estate.
Nor soul searchers, seekers of paradise
Bring a change. Neither percepts this and that,
On a moral ground, high and up
Of the fiery souls in literature, tear apart
A battery of lawyers, teachers and academics
The younger blood, dreamers and lovers
With patience tread the murky shrubs.
Revolution is not a cup of tea,
Nor dancing folks face the brunt.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
September 12,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem