The days are backward,
The nights are disrupted,
A dialogue of centuries occurs
In the union of moments,
A procession of memories
Descend on the threshold,
The universe is lost
On the track of incidents,
The turban of circumstance
Is on the head of life,
Turmoil of breath
Is on the entrance of life,
Documents of night are scattered
On the table of silences,
The ominous shadows are perching
On the windows,
Strange are the scenes,
Anomalous are the airs,
The steps are faltering,
The winds are wobbling,
These all portend
Something will happen,
Perhaps the spectacle will change,
If it doesn't happen so,
Then time may go on,
Someone should to this night impart,
Whenever it is about to depart,
It should proceed knocking my shut door,
So that I should go
Farther and farther away,
Holding the finger
Of the approaching day.
Written by Jagdish Prakash (India)
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar (Pakistan)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem