A helpless poet

Attention: open in a new window. E-mail

Noon Meem Rashid Poetry

( 0 Votes )

A helpless poet

Life for you is a bed of mink fur
and for me, the beggary of my colonial rulers.
Because of the cautious living of my forefathers,
I am a helpless and pitiable poet.
Worn out by the worries of sustinance.
In need of every morsel of bread,
me, my friends, hundreds of my fellow countrymen.
That is, flowers of the Imperial garden!
You were not hoping for a helpless poet.
The day I was caught in the web of your fate,
you had thought that perhaps one day my creative wit,
and my knowledge and skill,
would adorn your Beauty with the pearls of the world!
When my heinous fate stands in my way,
why shouldn't your prayers go fruitless,
your nightly prostrations and supplications
(one reason for that is my disbelief in God!).

O light of my Love's night,
forget it, for me
Life is the negation of a dream's prosperity!
You know well that god of the east does not exist.
And if he does, he is in a state of forgetfulness.
You are my "joy", you are my "consciousness".
Take me in your embrace,
that two "I" may become one to set the world on passion's fire.
And the day that you seek in your prayers,
conjures itself up on its own.

(Beyond the sight)


Name *
Submit Comment