The Open Eyes
How often a thought of unfair deeds,
by Muhammad Shanazar
Terribly haunt my vain guilty mind,
Shaking inner self, core of conscience,
The wanton pleasures of indelible past,
Become tormenting, painfully torturous,
Make troublesome the whole existence,
And running substance changes into gall.
I set once my sheep and goats free,
To graze in the uneven green pasture.
Seeing something edible in my hands,
A bird after hovering over my head,
Rested slight afar, at distance safe,
Out of breath, bent the eyes to me,
With hopeful accosting innocent gaze.
It was beautiful, all shining blue,
But against cherished hope in mind,
I hurled a round stone with force full,
That fell too heavy on the too weak,
Instantly the delicate breathing life,
Was lying prostrate, crumbled, motionless,
With loose legs and flexible wings,
The limp neck hung with ajar beak,
The open eyes queried complainingly,
“O! Man what wrong did I do to thee? ”
And I justified not the deed in response.