(13 February 1911 - 20 November 1984 / Sialkot / British India)

My Interview

The wall has grown all black, upto the circling roof.
Roads are empty, travellers all gone. Once again
My night begins to converse with its loneliness;
My visitor I feel has come once again.
Henna stains one palm, blood wets another;
One eye poisons, the other cures.

None leaves or enters my heart's lodging;
Loneliness leaves the flower of pain unwatered,
Who is there to fill the cup of its wound with color?

My visitor I feel has come once again,
Of her own will, my old friend-her name
Is Death: a friend in need, yet an enemy-
The murderess and the sweetheart!

User Rating: 3,2 / 5 ( 28 votes ) 1

Comments (1)

A haunting and painful write - you do great service bringing such verse to the West. 10, without hesitation. For some reason - and I would not care to analyze it closely - this reminds of of Garcia Lorca.