Sadiqullah Khan Poems

Ere we at time’s dispense,
Feeble is the man’s arm,
In good fortune an hour naught
Nor recalls an hour lost.
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The birds left us,
To sing somewhere else.
Their empty nests are,
The reminiscent
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The cage's golden door,
Is hit by a stone-storm.
Is it evil eye?
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What stands there on the anvil,
A carved door of flowers and geometry.
Axed into pieces of wood for hearth.
A butterfly's many colors of charm,
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“Delhi is yet far away”

Do not panic,
Bring wine in the cup.
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Let on the tip of the edge
Like dew drop dances lest it falls,
On the sharp corner of time.
Like a wayfarer's dream,
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Fill your souls with spirit,
O void of human values.
Of a cultural maze,
Literate or illiterate.
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Your fairy wings had the lightness
Of breeze. A butterfly’s innocence.
How you read gallons of ink poured,
A puff was just and the book was closed.
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From your eyes doth appear,
Hunger of the centuries unsatiated.
The soul was wandering the steppes,
An elder was buried in the hill's step.
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In the hermit,
I am a lover’s heart,
Tender and fragile.
...