समाचार
Can you feel it?
The gentle sounds travel to the far off temples,
Echoes of the ringing bells summon,
Living souls dance in ecstasy,
The waves strike their heads against the banks,
And the empty rooms emit light
The river flows with torrents.
Ah! My Love,
You are engross in the fairy tales,
Tales of the moon and the tales of stars.
You are truly ignorant of nature,
So it conspires against you.
Oh! My Love,
You are blessed with innocence.
Don’t change the colors of your canvas,
You are heedless to relaxing cloudiness.
Listen! Cloudiness mourns
On the lonely benches of your orchard,
And you read poetry of Keats and Coleridge,
You will never discern the real beauty,
See, the guardians of intellect entangle you.
How can one encage you in the valley of dream?
Oh, my dear Moon!
There comes an afternoon
You will wander about in the city of stillness,
But you will never find the path of love,
Nor the traces of my footprints,
Under the scorching sun,
Your emotions will be frozen
And you will lose yourself in the woods…
Muhammad Shanazar, Rawalpindi, Pakistan
