This Winter
Don’t worry about me, I can exist in my words
But what about those who have no words
For them the world is a bread-loaf lying in a chhaabba*
What do they know of the art of living who are scared by
the sadness that stares from the eyes of othersSilence breeds in the kitchens
Of those who relish books or wine
This world is the sacred book, the mantra, of a person at peace
They say taste for knowledge does not come easily
Open whichever scripture you have
It is raining outside
A man and a woman are squabbling next door
Flowers have just blossomed
Nobody will listen to the stories of those shivering against
this cold winter
* chhaabba : a bread basket[London, February 1997]
[AM and the poet]
Translated by Amin MughalMazhar Tirmazi
Page(s) 267
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