This beautiful masterpiece was written by the great Afghan poet, Razeq Faani, who passed away in 2010.
May his soul be always free because he never sold it when he was alive!
Everywhere is a paint store, everyone is selling colors.
I feel sorry for the glass, everyone is selling stones.
With her mischievous look, how beautifully
She steals my simple heart, than
She sells it back with cuteness and beauty.
From this fire you put on my heart every night.
Make it stronger my sigh, burn the world with it.
Who is sitting on the store of luck merchants?
He is stealing flowers of laugh, selling sorrow of war in return.
Nobody is feeling sorrow to no one, limits are so pushed.
Every deer is selling her fawn to tigers.
No one has seen a pearl in our deep waters for a while now.
Because whatever is inside a shell, has been sold to the whale.
From this hot oven of Fani, don’t expect calm poems.
Don’t ask for a bouquet of flowers, in a shop that sells gun.
Sorry This was my best attempt, I hope his soul will forgive me.
Translated by Kabuli. 2010, All rights reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment