**tribal Ways (Of The Age Of Stones) Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

In that dreadful space on earth
There was no mirror to wash
Face from dust with palm of water
The fishes had drunk all before perishing
Language has died with the leaves
Trees had abandoned their roots
For want of sustenance
There had been no fire but every corner
Appeared to have been blazed
Beneath the big walls of houses in mud
Steps bring night as sharp
As shadows from the sun of the day
The trees disappear in the night
In the old crevices with bats
Live demons
To capture souls in nightmares
Or dreams of some other lands
Or every night is wet in suppression
Forced to subconscious
The village herdsman is the story teller
Of the age of stones
Beauty is still woven in silk
Valor is shooting on spur
Sighs are lost in the air
For a dropp of water earth is dug deep
30/5/2009