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Far away in the clouds I see a white point,
But there are hills on the way and passes of cares.
Quietly in my veins a pleasant voice resounds,
Carrying singed strains, and yellow leaves.
Gently and dimly, a sitar rings in my heart,
Strange tunes of silence drive me mad.
And there is a long way of night and thorns,
But when I see that point, my veins start blazing;
My florid home becomes a grave, each flower a taunt.
The beauty of life veils the black mist of sorrow;
My heart tells me, ‘Get up and throw yourself at it!
In that point lies hidden your meaning of meanings.

Translated from Pashto by Taimur Khan

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