Graves Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai

Graves lie not only in graveyards silent
To speak of great authority of silence
As all speakers at last become penitent.

They seem to be the grey haired wisdom
Fallen in the lot of only a few shrewd ones
Who know that Death arrests souls after freedom.

They seem to be the waves of Time's ocean
That come to shore and bring out what they have
Endless and eternal seems this motion.

They seem to be the boats turned upside down
Whose passengers have entered the clay caves
Yes it is the tired travellers' best town.

They seem to be the tents agaist sun or rain
In which some outlandish are to take rest
Who want ot get rid of temporary pain.

They seem to be the crown of willful Pride
That wish to be higher than humble ground
Even here, it was hard for him to hide.

They seem to be the tears shed by the sky
At the lot of Earth full of dark miseries
Who has no one to listen to its sigh.

They seem to be the blisters on Earth' face
That rise on her skin when grief's cauldron boils
That are the sum of whole human grace.