Lift the arms up in the style of wings,
Sweatened dreamy circles on the drums' hollowness,
The hide is alive to the touch, like love's skin,
And silk of strings break through the heart's chords
Rupture. The master of ceremonies, put in some,
More songs, to the steps of the friends,
Lots more consumed, more gathered in company.
Alas! Who knows the breath on the flute,
Flies, like reed back to the reed-bed.
Celebrate the inner light, in lightness move,
Old times are when the spirits unite,
Who speaks the future? And in the Now,
Ready at hand is the presence, the times for remembrance.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
January 14,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem