Village Of The Yore Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

Village of the yore and it descends on the hill,
Rustic windows and doors as if hanging on forever.
A sunset one evening to the silence of the houses,
O these mud walls have seen such hardness in beauty.

To a beauty t carrying water from the stream down the hill.
Will guddar be beau tier than it is now!
Some red frocks and veils of green,
Would antelopes climb the hills with such steps!

Far down is a wood market,
Would the timber be so stacked clean else wher!
Would the underground black market be so evident,
Would the bravery be so defiant looking down upon peaks.

I cross it in the morning and in the evening,
Would dimensions of nature be prettier than this.
Of manhood and womanhood would the life be,
Ever so harmonious. Bereft of all sanity and belief.

Would the belief be so simple and soft.
Behind the alter of stones lie such a depth,
Such sunrise and the silence of the dusk.
Such darkened faces with salts of the air.

Such demons and fairies as would they bring on the way,
Such love for freedom and bravery and hospitality,
So fly like falcon with wings open in the recesses.
Such shepherdess and playing in the mud.

Digging deep for waters in the sands of time,
And the stupa of the mighty Buddha now turned into fortress.
So fatal a move as the hillocks' peaks would make shadows,
Such as the full moon would witness lovers suckling love.

And so they live to the tune of nature.
Such is the affairs of the state passing in the pass.
Let's break open into freedom with barefoot today
And the future that is as promising as cities, at bay.

What luck hast thou, o heart in joy,
Nothing is yours yet the whole world is thine!

For Ali Masjid, a small village on Khyber Pass.

Sadiqullah Khan
Torkham,
June 12,2011