War-Torn City Poem by Tamiz Ludi

Tamiz Uddin Ludi



Time is not still in this city now,

It hangs like the hands of a clock

Whose face has been shattered by shrapnel's kiss.

Soothsayers trace life's lines in the air—

A single shoe, a half-burnt doll,

A hand's shadow fossilized upon a wall.



Democracy now is the sound of ceaseless dripping

From a ruptured water pipe.

And freedom means

Spending an entire afternoon

Gazing at a wildflower

Born in the cracks of rubble.



Yet suddenly, at midnight, a house

Still standing like a skeleton awakens;

It has no windows, but inside burns

The silent flame of a single candle—

As if someone still waits

For another to return.



Time passes, but here history stands frozen.

Only a flock of blue pigeons circles

A destroyed minaret,

As if they still believe—

The sky is completely neutral.