MS (25-11-1960 / Pakistan)

The Birds Do Not Stopover Now

The birds do not stopover now;
The desolate tree of my yard,
Gazes at the ways since long.

There had been the days, when
My house hustled and bustled too,
All the younger and the older,
Were busy in the worldly doings,

Now the same fondness,
The same taunting,
Of the affectionate parents,
Appear a distant dream!

When my brothers,
Tempt me to the alien lands,
A shriek of helplessness,
Arises in my breast.

Ah! I fetch back wherefrom,
Those spent, depleted moments,
In which felt I the true savour of life.

Who knows when will return,
The same hustling bustle of my house,
When the morn and eve will echo,
With the melody of olden delightful songs.

by Muhammad Shanazar

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