I am maddened by the
Death-knock.
In a frenzy I run,
for the many chores to be done…
From the stillness of mountains and lakes
to hear ancient songs,
to unravel mysteries of tales from the past,
of trees to enquire after
the business of growth,
to watch the ever-changing
shapes of clouds,
through sweet-voiced, goodly birds
seek the source of divine fruits,
touch flowers of a blushing creeper,
make conversation
with doorways and walls.
So many visitors still wait;
a long list of unseen vistas
beheld in the eyes, pounds
in the veins,
exploding them any moment,
but I am busy,
in a flurry to carry out the chores…
The ocean calls,
islands and coastlines
for aeons have longed for me.
They haunt me, the fishermen
singing songs as they return
to their abodes;
some day I’ll pay them a visit…
Enchanting lands
restively wait
to reveal their many treasures;
paths are not unknown to me,
in the old wooden trunk, lie safe
the maps;
I can also discern the melody of gods,
but I am busy…
So much to be done for the children.
Books and notebooks,
school uniforms, new bags,
toys, bats and rackets
and so much more that is
yet unsaid,
will make them happy
if I buy for them,
but I am busy,
have to see through so many chores…
Faster now, blood rushes
through the veins;
life is possessed by the frenzy of Death.
Busy I am,
hurriedly scribbling poem after poem,
maddened by the Death-knock.
(Translated from the original Urdu into English by Yasmeen Hameed)
