Thursday, October 18, 2007

Oct 18 and counting

Dard-e- dil likhoo kab tak jaoon un ko dikhlaoo
Ungliyan figar apnee khama-khoon-chuka apna (Ghalib)

(Loosely and I emphazie very loosely translated as: When do I stop writing of the pain that wrenches my heart Should I show my Beloved these bruised fingers of mine..the writing-reed that drips of my blood)

I admit her smile and tears still move the public...hopeless romantics they line up for a glimpse of her face...what kind of self-destructive love is this that draws them still? She has let down this love before, but they still hope....

Mangled twisted wrecks, a trampled confetti of rose buds identity papers charred red black green now stained the crimson of blood. How much blood has to flow in this long night of ours, for how long do my blood-shot eyes beseech of the heavens for dawn to come...

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