The Last Eve In The Metropolis Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

When skies begin to change,
New shawls of the seasons,
The people dress themselves
In new costumes,
And begin to keep
The old ones in the trunks,
Then you halt for a while to remember me!
I am a redundant attire
Of every crawling moment.

When birds begin to migrate
From the old regions,
Swarms soar onwards in the skies,
And they begin to ground themselves
In the valleys;
When some sparkling bird bathes,
In circles of the lake of memories
And fluttering his wings flies,
And when that diminishes,
Each moment into distant skies,
And becomes a mark worth forgetting,
Then you halt for a while to remember me!

When in minarets of light
Propped by hands of the sea,
The burning fire begins to extinguish
And in search of warmth and sometimes light
The number of birds thumping down
At the feet of minarets begin to grow,
Then see an astray bird of the swarm
Heading onwards at the sunset,
Then you halt for a while to remember me!

I who migrated too,
And tumbled door to door in search of light,
My presence in companies of friends,
Was fire burning on torso of the sea,
And its debacle appeared at last.

Friends! You will not forget,
But everything appeared to be forgotten,
All divine booklets favour my conviction,
Who…how long…whom ….anyone remembers,
Other anxieties there are too, to be heeded;
At times I shall be no more here,
But my eyes,
Immersed on the glassy windowpanes,
Of the restaurants,
Will ever remain behind,
To see you friends, wrangling, squabbling
On the dilemmas.

Friends! When evening begins to change
Into deep dark night
And sleep begins to flutter
In eyes of the lamps along passages of the city
And you intend to return,
Scatter on the paths,
Then you halt for a while to remember me!

I who was given existence with the ink Nothingness,
Came into the Kingdom of Being,
Shimmered for a moment,
And then dissolved.

My dear ones!
Be not diverged after my departure,
The same pliable prescription of compromise,
Is an antidote for all maladies.
Whatever someone says…though all do the same,
Every sanctimonious gets irritated on my thoughts,
And his happiness lies in it.

Everything here is personified,
Embodied by imposition of its own boundaries,
In alteration of linkages,
Each word in eyes
Of the meaning is a stable light,
Death: is a belief in the diseased truths,
In this world of patients;
And to articulate curiosity amid the dull-minded,
Is a massive death of heart and soul!

My eyes,
Hung in the spaces on high crosses,
Have been beholding since ages.
My eyes only see,
Here we all are words
Dying like worms on the paper of time.

My eyes are static
And everything is to pass on,
Where are budging on grey in the mist,
The marks of drifting faces of my friends,
The ocean extends far beyond in thousands of miles,
The earth is worn down to the depth of its core,
Towns, cities and toy-like houses,
Time taking along kids of centuries,
And wearing the costume
Of ruins has been passing on with no break in routine.

We tumbled down
From the dark clouds of Nothingness alone, alone,
And a thick blotting-sponge of Being
Made us all nebulous,
And being absorbed we have been dissolved,
All those whom I beheld at least bear the same tale.

Friends! Whenever you stop in your dialogue,
And I sojourn into your minds,
Then have a faith
That before the total extinction I shall pour down,
In the form of scalding drops of fresh blood,
So that I might left behind
Some indelible deep marks.
Some indelible deep marks!

When skies begin to change,
New shawls of the seasons,
The people dress themselves
In new costumes,
And begin to keep
The old ones in the trunks,
Then you halt for a while to remember me!
I am a redundant attire
Of every crawling moment.

Written by:
Dr. Swarwar Kamran
Translated by:
Muhammad Shaanzar