A Cry Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

The blind dungeon of the sleep
Waits with jaws ajar,
The scorpions dance in the fire,
The river of pain is in flood,
I am an inexperienced traveller of loneliness,
The call of Time has made me restless,
My plight is like the plight of surplus word,
On the clay-coated wooden slate,
All around me dance the voices of Hell,
And they have got incarnated in my existence,
They have made me indispensable limb of Life,
Around me expands the zones of hell,
And tempests have encamped beyond the sight,
I have gone down deep into the blind dungeon
Of the sleep and hugged mischievous vampires.

The face of the Sun has been blackened
The moon has lost its light,
The trees have become devoid of greenery,
The roses are sans smell,
The streams are stagnant,
The wind has stopped movements of the gusts,
Moss has grown on the walls,
The ceilings are the abodes of spiders,
The doors of each house have become rusty,
The black stones are piled up in front of the eyes,
The faces are behind the black veils,
Miseries have exchanged the colours,
Who should have knowledge where to go?
All around in darkness there stand,
Black, brown and white shadows.

I am the inhabitant of this world
I know the secret of sullied face of the Sun,
And of the moss grown on the walls,
I am the observer of the faces behind the veils,
I am in abyss of the dark dungeon,
Callous
With no conscious
Drunk
I sing the songs of olden times,
So that the rivers of pain surge again,
So that the ocean of thoughts gurgle again,
So that rashness of blood dance on the face,
So that demons of anguish jump in each vein,
If we have the blood of modesty
If we have the blood of breeze,
If we have the blood of light,
If we have the blood of voices,
And in our eyes flames of blood,
Why should not mix then jaws of the dark dungeon into ashes?
How will then exist the dark dungeon of the sleep
How then in the abyss of it,
I shall hug the mischievous vampires?