Below The Surface - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
They tend trout on hooks, below the surface
Hitting hard, the stones roll on, like cold dreams,
Doors open on knocks of knuckles, whose, they know.
Windy storms find new eyes, every night, by fire
Wooded sittings, the night's a long story, only mothers know.
They drag down, carry their feet, or rise up to white snow,
Their long hands hang around their necks, tomorrow
They will sit on a cold black cut boulder washed
Sorrows are left behind and hope is little home.
For my happiness, the color of draped clothes,
Or by a ‘suspension bridge', trolled myself up, above stream,
Mirror-like, I look down to see the blue sky, and open door.
Merrily conscious of the happenings, water rolled swiftly,
It has no end, some elsewheres and nowhere, needless
To know the significance. Bread and butter, hill's peak
Could life be a blessing, more or less and even then
It is a long pull on the years, people say, downwards
They go to malls, watch cinema and live in little small ‘flats',
Where rats out of fear of being robbed, hide in dirty gutters,
Preachers have their days and politicians steal under tables,
Officers are little gods, and policemen shoot at humans.
They have huge armies, and every now and then ‘skirmish',
The big world is mayhem and universities teach ‘absurdities'.
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