It Hangs Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

Ah! It hangs
Glory be to the years lost,
And years to come
The sage says live today.

I have pulled it much,
Worked much and starved much
Breathed much and my heart,
Pumped much.

It still hangs
My spirits went up.
Those young girls watched much
And some old yearned much.

It still hangs,
Like a toy made of
Some loose cloth
Untied.

It still hangs in the dreams
Dry and alas not wet
It drains,
It aches when I stretch it
To stand.

It can do nothing more,
It is like a blunt tool
It has no bones either.
It shall neither graze in rich
Bushes of virgin landscape.

It will neither find its place,
It will shy away
Or let go
Like a monk.

It would then after some time
Give way to nature
And having lived its life
It would tend to sleep

It only hangs
If not reborn sublimely,
From inside.