Sometimes
the shrunk surface of the human skin
is rendered so tense
A
red fury does spread like
The
softened red on the skin of a child—
An
anger more genuine than in defending self
Fumes
in the cells of the brain;
A
sword does leap on to the hands
beneath the moon and
Straightens
that obdurate sharpened tongue.
And
someone like a seedling of rose
Penetrates
the roots—
The
searching hands do go so deep
Cracking
the earth and they
So
playingly hold some rigid stones
before that sharpened sword
Instead
of defeat, with their shining eyes
They
win over a vulture—
An
angry vulture having buffalo’s horns.
This
the-fold nature of man
When
washed with tears from domain of pain
Verdant
leaves do bloom in life,
The
serene moon as cream of milk
Then
covers afar the darkness here ;
In
the depth of memory peeps the human debt
And
that indebtedness to beauty stands
One
one’s way to way to utter ruins.
Mahbub
Sadiq
(1948--)