Unabated disarmingly mysterious
The spin is like a whirlpool of ideas.
Holding on to one and leaving another,
The chase is either milky way
Or a path of stones on bare feet.
The chase is killing and dreams crumble,
The countenance's resolve
Is to prepare a marathon of spirit.
Getting it done or waiting for
The coincidences as miracles.
The faith's journey is closer
To destination yet it is a mirage.
Counting the days as things close by,
Hours are days and days are months.
Not in number but measure time,
Autumn, winter and then spring,
To add sanity to the senses.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
October 5,2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem