Be subtle pain, torture to the senses,
Be chaos on the face of unrevealed silence
A sun that shines on every wall, a moon hiding,
On the roof tops, be the gentle breeze freezing,
Ice out of water, and the breath blowing,
Sweet sounds the reed's narrow dark lanes.
A dance on the palm, be the face of Mary,
Like love's remembrance and the touch of Jesus,
Like your beauty. O muse, be like yesterday,
The wheel of time, by the treacherous fortune,
Slowly circle back, and be the forward thrust,
To the billows of the stuck ship, O the storms!
And unto my fingers, be the pen with ten pots,
Yet the burning is a craving, like fan to the fire.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
January 15,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem