My vision, catch the glimpse,
In needle's eye, between the ends,
Twilight and night, capture the last ray,
End drop of scotch, twenty one years old.
Darken it, the cup, don't hurry up,
Tinkle the embers of my grieving heart,
Or a hilarious tinge, by master's ignorance
Or delights of life, he sayeth it so.
Down the lane goes funeral of the vain
Devouring agape, earth waiting wide open.
Thus we rise to the sun's first ray
Gleaming life, alas! How many autumns go.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
November 24,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem