A Knack Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

No one taught the wind, nor to the leaves
The pine sings its chords, not even Pythagoras,
Tan Sen derived lessons from listening, tuning
To the seven notes, or chords of combination.

Aristotle taught walking, Socrates in dialogue
Plato’s ideal is a spoken word, above the written.
Since we imitate nature, just a bit of it, and we learn.
A camera for an eye, a static image for the changing
Reality. We make statues, we are stuck with. We make
Outlines, divide; a poor human copy –third, fourth or fifth.

Conversations sometimes settle into wonderful poems,
In trance new words are born, twist this way or that,
Therefore, ‘trance-figured’, and therefore, ‘except’ and
‘That I am left with no choice, but to love you
Because I owe this to you for your beauty…’

The moment you touch me, I bleed, and bleed;
The moment your finger strikes the right string,
I like the echo in the sound board, sing and sing.
What a rascal art thou love! The whole earth
Is the floor. We are all dancing to our customized inner tunes.

Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
December 16,2013.