Of your hundred colors picked on brush,
Seven thousand strokes given on canvass,
Of my wall given the color of mirror,
By silent tendings, warmed by breath,
The corner of the scarf made into dust remover,
From the mist of mouth, with saliva rubbed,
My eyes given, in the shape of abundance,
Drunken glaze, with spirit-wine washed,
And then you see, the simplicity of art.
In perfection it shines like a radiant sun
To the ultimate sophistication the soul ascends.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
January 15,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem