Ascent To My Soil - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
‘O Poet of the difficult, dear addicted artist
Assent to my soil and flower..'
‘At the grave of Henry James' by W. H. Auden
Ascent to my soil, and flower
Addicted artist, poet of the difficult
Upturn grave's stone, a darkened vault
A river's rage, the night's demonic winds
From skies unleashed, O eye bleed not -
Trembling fears, in the noon dusk
Frozen morning, a small cut log,
The dream is smoking chimney, bread
On hearth. The day's gathering for him
Is stone, for her a warmth. There are no,
Unborn, the dead have traveled long paths.
O their hands, who broke the stones,
Bring the mercurial water, in the hill's arm-pit,
Following goats, little girls ride peaks
Boys have known their fathers in doubtful war
Dead. A flag flutters, will someone bring
For my hospitality, flat of the earth.
She bought utensils worth two dried hide,
He sold, in barter, of what shreds could be offered.
They sit together, he brings news, too
Fashionable is the steel bowl, may be next time.
Ascent to my soil, and flower,
O Poet of the difficult, addicted artist
The warmth of the old bones a breathing chest,
I borrowed a moment's dignity to feel,
A king's demeanor, in the seeker's secret.
O tiny lines of beauty, could moon drown?
From her cold cheek, tears of anguish wash.
-On a family buying utensils in Ghizer Valley
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