My mind is like a whale in the approaching evening
That dives into the night's sea;
Yet I hear that far-off sound
Imprisoned in the breast of this body.
The sun has wiped out the tinge of evening cloud from
the tired minaret,
No movement in the air
Not realizing that no rest until deep sleep in this black night.
Yet the tired and dejected nerve's fatigued movement
Brings the dream of hectic speed,
Perhaps storm-signal is prevalent in tired April's sky,
Perhaps millions of evil spirits encircling like night mare,
Thousands of thunders flash in the horizon of my mind.
I hear the call from the sky:
Your night of misfortune
Brightened on the free eastern horizon,
The old tree in your forest
Has now shed its worn-out bark.
That thought pervades my mind like wild fire,
April's likely thunder-cloud
Springs up in the dejected crowd's mind
The mind leaves the nights sea.
And becomes a free bird in the morning.
Away on its wings in the sky, leaves the old plundered minaret,
Leaves the sky's splendour of colour,
Leaves the border of the horizon,
Like the captive's dream-
A free mind,
It's my mind.
[Translated by Abdur Rashid Khan]
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Comments about this poem (The Mind by Farrukh Ahmad )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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