Maps Poem by Prof Niamat Ali Murtazai
Maps
Crawling move this way and that
Eyes imagine a fluttering bat.
The primal Nature knows no scale
Or passing time leaves behind trail.
They are the sketch of human mind
Some cruel, some humble and kind.
Or they are the decree of Fate
The dialogue between Love and hate.
They are the relic of old myth
Or the same has been old Earth's heath.
Look at the lines of maps and think
Into ununderstanding sink.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 3:13:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
