Perhaps, it is better to turn around.
I have blackened my hands
Over a stretch of time,
And I never thought of you as you are.
Now that I stand by the abyss at night
The moon beckons: come away,
Now as I stand by the Ganges in sleep
The funeral pyre calls: come away.
I can surely go,
I can choose to go in any direction--
But why should I?
I will clasp my child's face and plant a kiss
Go I will
But not right away
I will also take you along
Alone I shan't go, and certainly not at this ungodly hour.
Syed Maqsud Jamil writes creatively and is an occasional contributor to Star Literature and Reviews Pages.