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.
Lots of contemporaries—
but 'me' is not my contemporary.
My birth without 'me'
was a blemished offering on the collection plate.
Me—a book in the attic.
Maybe some covenant or hymnal.
Or a chapter from the Kama Sutra,
or a spell for intimate afflictions.
There were two kingdoms only:
the first of them threw out both him and me.
The second we abandoned.