Long time back, I had flied out of Kashmir,
When I flew back, I looked for my nest,
I spread my wings in the clouded sky,
Oe'r my city wearing a black chador,
Abandoned by native people,
A ghost city!
Taunting me for having flied out,
Inhabited by ghosts of war and conflict,
I found a tree and perched on its boughs,
I shrieked with pain to see the ruined city,
Every bird knows its own nest,
I, too, know my nest, that lies there,
But the night is too black and too still,
That I fear to enter it as my soul is lonely,
The dogs and jackals are howling,
At the native people ferociously -Passing through the ruined city
Mykoul
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem