In the odd days of Islamabad,
He's a pleasing picture
A breezy beat
High up and so humbled
Man is a candle in himself
Light; candlelight, and the colour of moon
Late night lamp
Early morning's hillview
Silence of the rain
A little wait; a promised freedom
Portrayal of pretty, touchy shores
Embodiment of the intoxicant evening
Rehman's Rehman Baba's breathe
Comrade to the Kalashi cores
In the service of Ghani
He's himself become Ghani
I've felt Khushal's verses waving thru him
Ah, the Pashto poem
My friend, my dear, my darling folk
Sometimes, somewhere he goes lost
A kind of resonance
Returns back with same serenity
Stanza to all, and an immortal ink
An aching echo; more than musicality
With a lyrical heart; historical head
Soaked, submerged!
An immutable age forever!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem