POETRY

He grew flowers,

And then it dawned on him,

Blooming of the heart,

Is not the same,

As the blooming of flowers.

He let himself soaked in the rains,

But there wasn’t a rain,

That could extinguish the flames,

Ablaze inside him.

He danced and danced,

But he came to know,

He isn’t a tree,

That those birds of memories,

Would flutter away.

He listened to the music,

But no instrument,

Charmed his inner snakes,

To come out.

Weary of his loneliness,

He raised some pet-birds,

But soon he realized,

Birds did picked the seeds,

Not his sorrows.

He locked himself in a chamber,

Hoping someday someone,

Would open this old box,

To find some amorous letters.    

….

(Translated from URDU by Mustafa Liwal)

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