A young maiden, ang’lic beauty, half my age,
Sitting long hours with me
Knee to knee;
Hurls on pebbles to the rotting water pool;
Agitates the age-old calm
Of the surface of the pond;
Raises ripples in the filthy, stinking flood
That chase each other in lazy close sequence
To the utmost marshy bounds.
Hibernated frogs and toads in the old pool,
Startled up by the successive fall of stones
And vibration of the ever-chasing waves
Hop and scuttle in much dread
On the silty, slimy bed
Groan ‘n croak in dreamy, drowsy harmony,
Yearning for the past repose in agony.
Finding their warm recesses blocked to them,
Pop up to the freezing surface in much pain;
Struggle badly with the fleeting breath in vain.
Mossy surface of the pool
Is replete with carcasses
Of its dear refugees,
Turning it into a sorry, dismal scene.
Associate Professor M.A. Usman, GPGC, Bannu
THE PASHTUN TIMES