Listen! Faiz,

Listen! Faiz,
Do you know?
The difference
between your and my wait
Is only
A fixed time
Just a few more days
You knew that
Like the gust of breeze
Speechless cloud does not tell
When I ask—
“How many more seasons like this?”
Who knows how many more seasons?

The walls around me,
These four walls,
Have been standing quietly,
Raising their heads high,
Bearing winds and storms, and the scorching sun.
Why do they not speak?
No! Maybe, they do speak.

When sand and plaster fall,
They surely say something.
But! The owner repairs them off
silencing their words
One day,
Finally, the weary wall collapses,
And at the same place,
Another silent wall is built.

On the pitch-black night yesterday,
There was a knock on the doors of prison
Of the innocent breezes
Of cries of our dear ones
Even the lightning
Was screaming for help
Asking for our freedom
Even the well-shaped branches
Openly joined in the grief
After failed attempts
And losing control
The delicate tears of rain
Started to pour
Struck against the earth’s crust,
And the rhythm of the drops
Turned it into
A commotion of pleas.
But—
The deaf snakes
Kept dancing
With their poisonous hoods
Laying their web of traps.
And—
The oppressed
Stood with their hands raised
On that pitch-black night…

--- Gulfisha Fatima