A poem can begin anywhere─
From a pair of shoes
A submerged grave
Or from a flower that blooms at the foot of a grave
Everyone finds a home in the end─
Ants under a prayer mat
Girls in my voice
A squirrel weaves home over a dead bull’s
skull
A poem too shall have a home
In the heart of an exile or some
awaiting eyes
A poem can complete a wheel
Left incomplete by its creator
A roaring sky is not enough for a
poem
But it can easily fit in a platter
Flowers, tears and bells can be put
into it
It can be sung in the dark
And dried in the heat of festivals
You can see it
In empty utensils, vacant kurtas and
cradles
You can hear it
Accompanying pushcarts and funerals
You can kiss it
Amidst crowded seaports
You can knead it
in a tub made from stone
You can grow it
In the mint beds
No night can darken
A poem
No sword can cut it
And no wall can imprison it
A poem
Like clouds
Like air, like a street
May part ways anywhere
Like a father’s hand.
Sarvat Hussain ©translation by Ashaq
Hussain Parray
