In The Interlude Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

Long ago and a distant remote past,
A wish, so concise in brevity.
Would it make a flutter on bosoms of love.
Would it rain on sand dunes and bring in
Signs of early spring. Would it be, and
Sans words, written on parchments, read love.
Felt and expressed with the intensity,
Of immense pleasure and joy and anguish.
Like a dove, would its wings carry,
And a weight not less than the earth itself.
And lighter than a feather, to be diffused,
In a moment and be a memory.

In the interlude, on the red carpet of desire,
Making things out of nothing and bringing
A sense. I addressed a gathering of gentlemen,
Looked up to some date palm trees, which would,
Bring fruit, which some day birds and humans
Would eat. I had been thinking of a lantern being
Hung in the late evening and early night on its branch.

There was a mighty river of Indus in its eternal flow.
On its bank, the dust particles look like stars.
There were many walls and small paths. This place,
Was once the bed of the river. Like the emaciated
Legs of a tall girl who out of poverty, was selling
Everything, without knowing its worth.

We move and unmove, we then stop and pause,
A Turk's dilemma was to relate to a culture where
Blindness was treasured as the ultimate epitome
Of creativity, and' imperfection as mother of style'
I was reading a history book. The author, had been
In love with his native city of Istanbul.*

In the interlude, I did experiment in the 'intertextuality'
I had done this before, and like it. Small words, said
By others make a difference in another context.

The last thing I did was to hear to some Arabic music,
By a lady maestro. Trumpets, tambourine and strings.
Words when said with love make a difference.
They nurture soul. This was all, I was thinking,
Would it happen to listen to her live, seeing her as
An object, a reality. We have many concepts of,
Heaven. We can imagine.

I talked to someone who had been dreaming a marriage,
To my brother. Convincing. It appears happening.
My brother is coming from another city and he has,
Sent his books ahead of his arrival.

Everyone has left the home for some happy excursion.

*Reference to My Name Is Red, By Orhan Pamuk, from Turkey and Nobel laureate 2006.

Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
November 17,2012

Mecmu i Menazil. A view of Istanbul. Turkish miniature, sixteenth century (Ottoman)