Then I opened my window, I distanced myself,
Owls were heard, snakes were devoured,
For divinity was beaming on the hearts of the eyes,
One of those organs in some pain and pleasure.
Then I was closing the platform’s door, keeping
Sins sordid, sins worst, so that major grins
Absorbed the face, like the hesitating of ears.
My tensing up of order’s finality was a feather
Of oil, a swinging order from the family of ideas.
This is a display of the groups called godly gnostics.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderfully conceived and written poem, Naveed. Thank you