For Umar
I told you, do not be so proud
of being born in this country
Be a little selfish, have your dreams
You are intelligent and lovely.
You refused my offer
And you turned away
You went to the chakka
And stood there, waiting.
I know not for what
That dawn which Faiz never saw
That friend that Shahid lost
Or that freedom for which Tagore sung.
I moved on, free
You got lost, mad
Time became an illusion for you
You forgave even its treason.
They flipped through reams of paper
Pretending to decide your fate
I stood by the door
In black robes.
Thinking only one thought:
They will never know
That that which they swear by
On a daily basis.
That for which they make their speeches
And write their scrolls
Mark occasions as your mark your nights
That whose dignity they uphold.
It is that damned land
You loved too much
And that is your tragedy
And our loss.Image: Moonrise (Stanisław Masłowski).