Black haired, snake like
‘Presence' struck by awe,
She once said, snakes
Were gods, the goddess
From Bangalore, told me.
You are so ruined
I doubt a sculpted imp
-ression, from youth
To grandmotherly,
From black and white
To sepia, and colors.
There is no need of
Me reading this or more,
You write and we live,
Or we live and you write.
The installation
Is the rite of beheading,
And lilacs, tulips and roses
Are given to the loved ones
In the nozzle of guns
Or tucked above the ears
In oily hairs thick with mud.
-For Naomi Shihab Nye, American- Palestinian poet (b 1952)
Sadiqullah Khan
Peshawar
July 6,2014.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem