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Poem	Sons, my native land has sons born on soil barren and rocky and lone for ages lone across the gaping wilderness tear ruthless winds and torrents of pain sweep in epochs. sweep them out. Sons of mountains radiant petals of jasmine gay specks of time-less age-less rocks elegant, fair and tender moulds lumps of leathern coarsened hearts damned by sun and wind and time dashed from tops. they seek a home lost in dust beneath their feet On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans immersed in simmering scalding water the toiling sweating hands do seek the blessed home for ages they have thought and dreamed. In towns flourshing along the banks of mountain brooks stays a-while a fleeting cloud of gloom....... The Home! and from an urban sheeted roof curls into waves of trailing smoke. The brook is limpid murmuring gold the smoke is trailing meandering gold the killers are killers of conscience grace and candid souls if ever they marked the wave of anguish a dash, a span among the torrents of water and sweat the rocks in hearts the dark sinister rocks would fall. (Translated from Urdu By Balraj Komal, Posted By Anila A.)
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