A Scene - Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Through doors and windows
Laden with the weight of silence,
Pain descends from a sky
In which the moon is narrating
Its sad tale.
Covered with the dust Of a thousand roads, in sleeping rooms Of semi-obscurity, listen, as this life’s Violin plays a muted lament, a faint melody.
Translated from the Urdu:
Bam-o-dar khamoshi ke bojh se chur Asmanon se ju-e-dard-rawan Chand ka dukh bhara fasana-e-nur Shah rahon ki khak mein pin han Khwabgahon mein nim tariki Muzmahil lai rubab-e-hasti ki Halke halke suron mein nauha kunan
Translations
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In America
It is morning in America,
where I sit, wearing a cloak
of mourning,
next to a packing case adorned with rusted grass; a coffin for a body, my body.
My hand holds My hand stained with finger prints of the beloved assassin’s hands.
Which airy scabbard now conceals her deception’s steel – the cause of this massacre? Is the amulet my body wears at the throat, her dagger’s handle?
In America, it is morning. In America, I am entombed in a bloodsheet.
My Poems
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Evensong
<img src="static.flickr.com" width ="400"
Photo by Joao
Like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest: And sport no more seen, On the darkening Green.
- from “Echoing Green”, in William Blake's "Songs of Innocence"
With dust of earth, and of night that is yet to fall at the corners of his eyes,
He walks with his shadow down the lane to sleep, for now, with his back resting against the shadow of the darkening, but eternal green.
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Also consider listening to a performance/ service over at BBC of choral Evensong . It has been soothing to my body and soul on an evening that finds me sick.
Image-ned Word
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