The wall of prison, the roof of dirge,
And an arc of ignorance make a sight,
And we are in between,
This is the sight that has bound,
Parted rotten breaths of the captives,
With the yellow autumn-tide,
But we the captives bother it not.
O! Futile wind, till the moments,
The sap of parting-pang
Dribbles from the edge of the heart,
These eyes and lips will remain motionless.
It is to be seen yet when the sapling
Of desire breathes behind
These frozen moments,
In the window that opens
To the lane of my beloved,
And when in the frosty season
The rose-cheeks smile
Upon the neckline of a decanter.
Written by Ayub Khawar
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: love and life