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Saqi Farooqi

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To a Pig

That magic afternoon
a grassy plain breathed
from the green earth grew
     shoots of light
and you, rooting in light
     with your snout
sauntered here and there.

I, your mortal enemy (3)
wearing pigskin Hush-puppies of Pride
weaving new snares of Malice
on the bench of Arrogance
sat shame-faced.
From an old lie
     I wanted to wrench myself free
I wanted to flutter my wings.

Softly I called you . . .
when I called you
     from your crooked eyes
you looked at me strangely: all at once
I began to live
my eyes shone
butterflies fluttered inside.

And in that hour of union
set in that golden day
           you, astonished
in your own way
in your eternal ugliness
looked lovely as a cheetah.

Fearfully
amazed like the Red Indians of America
hearing the earth throb
           you came near
came near, disbelievingly stared at me.
I wanted to reassure you –
– to restore a friendly rapport.
When with awkward stony hands
I caressed you
twisting my fingers
into your bristly hair
I found a lively pleasure
           a novel thrill of joy.
The tight spring of hatred
buried in my heart
           snapped
my inner gears unmeshed
I began to melt.

That time of our friendship –
that birthday of our victory –
that magic afternoon –
a grassy plain breathed
from the green earth grew
          shoots of light.

3. Islam holds pigs to be unclean animals and forbids the eating
of their flesh; thus Muslims regard pigs with special aversion.

Translated by Frances W Pritchett

Page(s) 134-135

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