Who Knows When - Poem by Sadiqullah Khan
Sometimes back you had the rebel’s
Seedling. Sometimes back you had,
In the pitched hour and nourished
Dryness of stones and thirst of earth.
You had on your worn shoe these,
Pebbles hit, and you had on blood,
And you had on water and you had
The green slowly transformed and,
With the wrinkled hand and eye,
May an eagle possess or a lion’s gaze,
On your wide chin the hair looked,
As if, weeded on its own natural line
And your holding a gun near a hillock,
Which you thought would decide
A fate and down by your goat-skin
Tent, they were busy peeling the hide,
And they were cooking broth in cold
Sunset, an evening who knows when?
-To an unknown tribesman.
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