The poem below is breath-taking in its original content in Pushto. My love for the verses made me try and ruin it through a translation but that could be forgiven, for everything is fair in love and .. err .. I don’t wanna talk of war as it reminds me our war ravaged Pushtun belt — a sad sad story being played in our backyards.
Lets look at the rich Pushto literary tradition and we’ll find people like Rehman Baba, Khushal Khan, Ghani Khan, Amir Hamza Shinwari and many many more who stirred the hearts and souls through the magic of their words. This guy Rahim Khan Majrooh is exceptionally talented in writing Pushto free verse and Hykos. His verse flows like the Kabul river and the incorporation of modern images makes his poems all the more interesting.
Ya me azad kda pa zangal ke da bulbul pa shante
Ya me khundi kda pa orbal ke da yao gul pa shante
Still, my love, things are like they were!
Still, you can give a second thought
To your decisions.
The train of time hasn’t left, yet.
The waters haven’t risen
Above their levels–
The dikes are un-inundated.
The ways to escape are still open.
People don’t yet know, as
The story is still
A secret between you and me.
The night is still ripe
And the dawn hasn’t burst, yet.
My laughter hasn’t yet been snatched
By the turbulent flashes of your beauty.
My sleep is still peaceful
From the distraction of your hypnotic eyes.
The fresh, tiny wound [of love]
Hasn’t yet turned cancerous.
The embryonic seed hasn’t yet rooted
from the flower-pot to soil.
Our nameless relation
Is yet to find an identity.
The matters of our lives
Are treading steady in their direction.
I, Majrooh, am still blissful
In my current state of life.
The buttons on my shirt
Are still nicely fastened;
[un-plucked by over-indulgence]
Things, whatever you wish — remorse,
Or loving me to death, are still a possibility
Because we do not, still, have
A means of connection,
But the currents of air.
The ill-match of a rug-mat
With that of a velvet cloth
Hasn’t yet patched with deep stitches.
I’ve yet to savor the luscious
Taste of our union.
My gaze is still fixed, in wait,
On the paths of assurance,
As I stand on the rooftop of uncertainty.
Your silhouette hasn’t yet shaped
Into a complete picture.
Still we are poles apart
In our status in life.
Like someone with a perfect vision
You can spot me around.
I can sense, you’re here
Somewhere with me —
Blind, I can look at you,
But I cannot see you.
I can’t figure you out
In a flock of swans.
I look at your mercy
Like a prisoner does.
Either set me free in a jungle
Like a nightingale
Or, fix me like
A flower, in your locks.