Omer TarinThe lambs are slaughtered and we leave- By the spouting of their blood! By the omens in their entrails! By the riddles in their bones! - We leave This is no land for the tattered ones We no longer belong to these hills Our ploughs are blunted against furrows of stone; The milk of our cattle has curdled in their udders; Vultures feed on our wretched carcasses As we leave behind our painted dawns and Nights pregnant with desire; We leave behind a heavy curse- O land of tyrants! O land of fools! May your rivers shrivel into dust; May the plague infest your fields; This is no land or refuge for us, The sons and daughters of the ages, We who have been given mastery of these worlds And those worlds beyond these worlds; We have folded our tents under the scrutiny of our foes And tomorrow, tomorrow we shall find ourselves, anew. © Omer Tarin 2016, by special arrangement |
Rehan Qayoom
|