The knife cuts through the thumb,
The bewilderment is visible, the sun,
Splashes its grandeur through the windows,
And the beauty is not unlike a thousandth part,
Of Joseph. The self praise is avoiding an eye
Or the evil awaiting by the corner.
Some helpless cries are heard, and
In the backdrop of arpeggios of the guitar's strings,
Of a Spanish master and a violinist wailing music.
From all around the city, the sea wave is carrying you,
To lose a part of yourself, might be,
Beneath the grace you hold, or in a disappointment,
See a joy descending on the footstep of moon,
Or don't go back to look after,
Tomorrow you may be the owner
Of a bigger present, bigger than the usual,
So you will be greeting friends on a talk,
Or you be in the presence of unseen one,
Who thinks greetings are a waste of time
For in the great informality of the universal existence,
We need not be the ungratuitous pedants, obeying,
The lesser commands imposed on ourselves.
Sadiqullah Khan
Islamabad
January 15,2015.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem