I will meet you yet again
How and where
I know not
Perhaps I will become a
I say to Waris Shah today, speak from your grave And add a new page to your book of love
Once one daughter of Punjab wept, and you wrote your long saga; Today thousands weep, calling to you Waris Shah:
Arise, o friend of the afflicted; arise and see the state of Punjab, Corpses strewn on fields, and the Chenaab flowing with much blood.
Me—a book in the attic.
Maybe some covenant or hymnal.
Or a chapter from the Kama Sutra,
or a spell for intimate afflictions.
Lots of contemporaries—
but 'me' is not my contemporary.
My birth without 'me'
was a blemished offering on the collection plate.
There were two kingdoms only:
the first of them threw out both him and me.
The second we abandoned.