A Song To Javaid Trali
A Song to Javed Trali
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The morning that dirty demon-like thing
Which sounds like Net,
Is teared apart is dead,
Is lifted as a narrow cage's iron-door,
I will fly as a freed bird
And celebrate, and sigh!
And sing a hundred melodious songs
In lilting voice
(Inflaming and lulling at once)
On the yonder trees of
Paanchal, Bugmad and Wustoor-e-wan.
As a monk is meditating on the red mount
I shall pray for your youth and power
At the Sofigund shrine.
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