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In the summer noon,
Like a winter night,
A silence,
A hush prevails.
The doves’ cooing,
A meditative still;
Time slackens,
Planted in stirrups.
The world heeds its heart,
Hearing judgment on death and life.
A smile imbues the air
Like someone hears the Rabab in sleep.
And I alone
Lost in thought
Set out in search
Of my longing –
A lost,
Helpless
Sojourner
Wandering
Lying on the ground,
I tread the sky.
I too have lent my heart an ear,
To find some purpose or scheme to life;
Some cause for pain and death,
And the grain of my conscious in eternity.
Lost in the ocean
Of how and why;
Wine in the cup
And in the wine,
In the red book,
From the mosque’s niche,
For death and life
I seek a link.
In mute
Silence
I
Seek the sitar’s plucking
And rhythm’s rules;
In surrounding colors
And blue pigeons
I seek the answer to my life.
I’m mad, I truly am –
I seek Plato in wine;
When I turn my gaze to myself,
Death,
Nothingness
Is all I see.
I’m mad, I’m mad indeed;
I seek life in death’s gaze.
In the summer noon,
Like a winter night,
A silence,
A hush prevails.
Far away
A grain
Of light
A star?
Or a distant desert fire
Tells me
In tiny sparkles –
The hill is steep
But a track leads over the top.
What
If life
Is a lost
Conscious
Moment –
It has a lasting
Lover.
My heart, are you fooling yourself or me?
How easily you ease out of this hassle!
O, my deceptive heart,
How you engross and please me,
But I will not hear you,
Or I’ll be lost,
And really
Go mad;
Drown
In black waters of anguish
Where I’m still afloat;
Lose myself in dark fears.
Here I burn in my own flames
Turning to dust in life,
Sinking in my own blood.
In the summer noon,
Like a winter night,
A silence,
A hush prevails.
Far away
A grain
Of light
A star, or a distant desert fire
Tells me in tiny sparkles –
The hill is steep, but a track leads over the top.
What if life is a lost conscious moment –
It has a lasting lover.


Translated from Pashto by Taimur Khan

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