Tuesday, June 28, 2016

"My man's here," she said,

her voice
was rocked by the waves,

her eyes were pearls,

there is love enough
in this word to save us - 'mine'

if only once in our lives
we get to say it
- all our pain, lying still, in the word -

then nothing
is incomplete, nothing, in all our years,
is left behind.

tr. from an extract from Ismat Chughtai's 'Hindustan Chod Do'

Ismat Chughtai

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