by Muhammad Shanazar
How sometimes invisible secret eyes,
Capture marvellous fleeting visions,
And see the spectrum of reality,
But the wise regard a product of insanity.
Often I wonder at the sight strange,
And the heart longs to have once again;
That my eyes captured,
While praying to God for bounteous blessings
On the Matchless and the Most Sacred.
I do swear, I did behold,
The fair creature sitting straight
In the rows long, each extended,
Left to right, beyond the sight,
With folded knees, in silence serene,
Of the same colour, age and size,
Myriad like blossomed pink poppies,
Cultivated in lines, swaying in breeze.
Long lashes, black brows, modest eyes,
The ornaments of down casting purity,
Muslin coverings on the head veiling
Rosy faces emitting thin glow,
Sat on the ground, swayed heads,
Like oscillating cradle about to stop.
Last updated June 24, 2011