greatpoetry | Inklings From the Dark by Rehman Rahi (Reply)

Inklings From the Dark

Yesternight, my sleep driven off and the thread of my fancies slit,
I espied an eagle in the wild shadows of my mind:
On its beak, in the same old fashion, smouldered the blood of the dove
Whose feathers were shed by hilltops into the atmosphere.
Turning my head on the pillow, I sighted a deep, dark, chasm
And rose and leaned my back against the wall, with the cool of the winter in the
marrow of my breast.
My lips froze dry as whisperings reached me from outside the window.
The snowflakes were sailing into the shelter of the crevices.
Not a mouse did creep from under the box to the store-cabinet.
In place of my upper garment a cat hang by the hanger.
Rubbing my eyes, I tried to pull the quilt upto my cold back,
But O, the kangri shook and the cold, hapless ashes kissed my feet
While the owl hooted outside, “O, woe to you, O woe!”
Fain would I have raised a cry of lament, had my heart stood by me.
Suddenly I called to my mind my darling son —
How raptly did he listen to my bed-time tale last night
When I told him of the agony of the oyster in her travails!
But he only heard part of the tale when sleep overtook him.
I rose like a moonstruck man and turned on the light
And found him lying by the wall like a mushroom on the mount,
In deep slumber, with fragrant blossoms blooming on his lips,
And a drop of sweat, dawned afresh, playing on his brow.
Perchance he was dreaming the rest of the tale!
Perchance the oyster had laboured forth a pearl!

~ Translated by Ghulam Rasool Malik