The Daughter Of A Stone Crusher Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

"I am a daughter of a stone crusher,
Poverty is my progeny,
In sweltering heat at noon
I work with my parents,
Brother and sister,
At brim of the road, the whole day
I crush the stones,
And in hardness of each stone,
I crush my dreams,
On my face and figures
Redness of the sunlight shines,
All water of my tears,
Drips drop by drop in my sweat,
As if someone sighs and pants."

"When early in the morn,
Neat clean kids go to schools,
Then why I and my brother,
Come to crush the stones,
And each night under the sky,
Seeing stars my eyes recall forsaken dream,
Which with a cumbersome heart
I hid under the heap of stones,
Then they all sustaining deep injuries,
Emerge in my eyes one by one.

"I arrange in order shattered questions,
Then my mind gets me shuddered,
To whom should I ask?
To whom I should reveal my heart?
My father, my mother,
My sister, my brother,
The stone crushers, exhausted of the day labour,
Have gone to their beds, oblivious to the world,
Stars and the moon all are muffled,
No one is to listen to my discourse,
Then I often converse to myself,
And ask you all
For whom are the routes that lead to schools,
And the hands that deserve pens and books
Why they are given heaps of stones,
Why they carry burden upon the heads
That deserve the crowns of knowledge,
And whose destiny is void of interpretations,
Why do the dreams often torment them? "

Written by Shazia Akbar Translated by Muhammad Shanazar