by Muhammad Shanazar
In my city,
The trade of epitaphs
Is in full swing;
My people have forsaken,
The days, month and years,
Here only anniversaries of explosions
In front of the cakes of anniversaries,
Bend and bow themselves.
When standing afar I curse
On their reciting of panegyrics,
The folk begin to tear
Into rags my dress amid the bazaar;
And I cover my body
With the leaves of my words, and then
The world seems to me naked like a nude.
I am confronting a tragedy,
In front of which
My poetry is helpless, without extremities,
The sycophant poets,
Have got fixed horns with their couplets,
And their hands are encroaching,
The breast of poetry.
I am engrossed in the lost relations,
My hearing goes though the pangs
Of pollutions of creativity.
Ah! I behold darkness descending
Into radiance of the milky day.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
Last updated July 08, 2011