It rained on me like descending clouds
Flickering lights were seen behind.
A glass wet and weeping
The ominous apparel of the angel;
In the stairwell of heaven.
There are no more songs of life,
Memories abound. The moment
Of reckoning. What's been done
And what's not.
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
October 22,2012
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem