“Meditation”
Upon a green lawn,
Sitting under an umbrella
Of red blossoms,
I think of you.
My fingers
Brush the green foliage,
Collecting the aromatic past
Of seasons spent with you.
That enchanting aroma
Which upon my lips
Evolves into soft,
Blushing laughter.
Far away, lost in deep reverie,
Branch-to-branch,
A butterfly,
Folding her beautiful wings,
Is flying.
I’m feeling just as such
I got the wings myself.
Parveen Shakir (24 November 1952 - 26 December 1994)
Translated from the Urdu by M.S. Alverston, 02/12/11.
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