Translated by Ahmed Tahsin Shams
Don't scratch where
your wounds live.
Inside mine: a fragile glass,
smashed into pieces---once in your hand,
now lying on your floor,
Terrifyingly trembled, you,
to be tired to put on such weighty 'motions.
What's there to live on
your anxiety, illusion, and kindness?
The only need is a minute of love.
Only by pouring a paltry piece of adore,
you could have read each letters and commas
of the history painted on that red-blood shirt.
Chat-chitter earth, designs of gigantic politics,
stream of blood of a destitute land---
beyond all these, you engulf me.
The body---burnt, nomadic,
looked after, with care, by the nurse.
On your way back,
where those wounds live.
Impatient to be boundless,
to explore the INFINITY...
I wish to set out
on a placid midnight,
and walk through silent roads,
with peaceful yellow streetlights...
and sit on a secluded bench,
stare at a galaxy of stars...
Wounding up the night,
the day breaks.
Distant misty woods
await my presence.
I want to rush
through the lonely track...
And I wish to sail across seas
in my raft alone,
in my own pursuit of...
Mashiat Mubasshira is schooling
with Viqarunnisa Noon School & College