Ghazal - Poem by Ishrat Afreen
Hands, picking cotton - how I love those hands
A perfect metaphor for the love of the land.
They had battled with stormy seas, all night long,
When, defeated, those strange folk, reached the land.
Like a fragrant bonfire the garden glowed for me
Like stationary sparks the flowers glowed for me
Those eyes wrung dry, that can't have been me
Dearer than your life, that can't have been me
That very night such torrents of rain had to pour
When my crumbling home was assaulted as never before.
[Translated by Rukhsana Ahmad ]
Comments about Ghazal by Ishrat Afreen
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You