MS (25-11-1960 / Pakistan)

Who Knows When The Eve Befalls

The shades of my wall have begun,
Merging into the dusky Anchal of Eve,
Only a few moments are left behind.

Only a few moments are left behind,
My fingers will hold the hemmed edge,
Of your memories that take me along,
On the same paths, in the same streets,
Where lies the wealth of forsaken times,
Those spent hours, the consumed life.

Forgetting all agonizing seasons,
The affairs, and the tales of pangs,
The memories will collect, assemble me,
Intake me into the restful soothing soft lap.

And in the gallery of night, all complaints,
Shall be erased from the slates of heart and mind;
But Ah! Again the dawning morn will snatch,
Scratchingly the Anchal from the head of night,
Again there will be the same tedious affairs,
The same world, the same bubbling pangs,
And the same sunny scorching streets,
The same life with very tormenting troubles.
But who knows when the eve befalls again,
The same eve which in exchange,
Of the tediousness of the day shows me,
The same world of the delightful dreams,
Oscillating me into your sweet streets again.

by Muhammad Shanazar

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