WHAT I FEEL

Is my feeling dead

Or am I severed from the bustling Existence

I have no link with Death

No union with Life

Yet, on the borders of days and nights

I converse with stones

Collect shells of agony

But keep my distance

From the gems within them

I roam and reside

On spiritless roads of insensitivity

Fill up cradles of my thoughts

With birds of superstition

Pierce the thriving blisters of the heart

And die

Translated by Yasmeen Hameed

Thanks

Pakistani Literature 2001

The Pakistan Academy of Letters