Hayā se husn kī qīmat do-chand hotī hai,

Na hoñ jo aab to motī kī aabrū kyā hai.



A trampled soul’s shriek

My corpse wrapped in a white shroud,
Tattered and wearied,
Revealing the dead body which
When alive remain buried.

Your eyes never discovered that
I too had a soul.
Barefooted now you stand, after
Crushing my breaths beneath your sole.

Ah! These silver pearls
rolling down your cheeks.
Of what are you sad?
That now my soul is free.

What is that you hold
tight, in fingers thine?
O You brought roses for me.
Really are they mine!

Ah! How their sweet smell will
Satisfy my grave and bones.
Like my all life was satisfied
With the gifts you gave of thorns.

All these years I crawled round you,
Like a worm, I wriggled to stand,
But each time was suppressed
Neath thy oppressing hands.

So my love, for what now
you kneel down side my grave?
Cheer up! My ghost will treat you well,
For all your past behave.

© Muntazir



My existence,
This life,
What meaning has it?
An unimportant urn.
A misfit.

My views,
These thoughts,
To whom do they belong?
Yellow pages, changing faces.
Unheard is my song.

© Muntazir