The moon had cast
High red flames on the peaks
Some bushes were drowning in water
The night's heat had been like in drought
As it would lick the air
That touched the skin
These big drops of water from a cloud
A resident was walking in rain
He had photographed trees and flowers
In the city
He was asked to for his artistic vision
I found that youth
Very dear to me
In quick succession
On dinner when I had taken cold milk
Then on sleep
In rain
And the way back
My memory is not catching anything
I am becoming one with water and flame
Islamabad
28/5/20101
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem