A Poem In The Operation Theatre Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

(Attributed to my own wife)
The eyes that I feel
Like delicate colours of the butterflies,
Caressing me get themselves
Vanished across the red moments,
My eyes till now
Are dazed containing obligation
To be awakened,
What tactic the indifferent Time uses
Which goes on
Descending into the abyss of my heart
Like the frozen reality of death.
If I close my eyes, the sight will sink down,
The eyes will sink down whom I feel
Like delicate colours of the butterflies.

O! My God,
Two tender eyes,
like the delicate colours of butterflies,
Might have slept across the red moments,
But the heart might be waking,
The heart in which the ocean of my heart roars,
And the brims of lips where from sprouts
The glow of tactility
Might be sleeping
But the dreams might be in a wakeful state,
I know well,
Her hearing is acquainted
With the rhythm of my pulsation,
But now she might be sinking down,
Down and into bottomless depths of silences,
At the last boundary of exertion, her arms
Laden with roses might have become motionless.

O! My God,
What kind of rustling moments,
Lacerating my heart, cutting their own path,
Are plunging into my heart?

O! My God,
The eyes with the delicate colours of butterflies,
The heart impatient like an ocean,
The arms laden with roses,
The yellow lips quivering in glow of tactility,
Her sense of hearing,
Her petals like semi-dormant body,
Abode them all in the shadow of ‘Ayat-ul-Kursi’,
Taking their utmost care,
For in the world yours,
The devotees and the winners of love are very rare.

Written by Ayub Khawar
Translated by Muhammad Shanazar