Poem: The Solitude

 

Originally written in Balochi by: Muslim Hakim

Translated to English by: Uzair Mehr

 

 

Thou come!

The mirrors of eyes are broken.

The heart is rendered a paper.

The wind has been laid out a path.

I died thousands of times,

yet alive

Thou come!

The evenings are igneous.

The nights are sleepless.

Don’t ask of the morning.

The paths pine for thee.

How solitary I am.

Thou come!

I can’t tell the tale anymore,

nor can I indite poetry.

I am engaged in a pensiveness.

The flowers are withered all around me.

Thou come!

The mirrors of eyes are broken.