A Dusty Heaven

Poet: Bahauddin Majrooh;

Translation: Faraz Jamil Kakar

They say:

These ruins were once a beautiful city

A city famous for its beauty

Tourists would travel for days and nights

Through forests, rivers and streams

To wander in this city

And enjoy it’s ecstatic sceneries

Deer would graze in the green fields

And come close to the door of city to play with kids

Birds would sing in the garden all day long


People, till then, had not invented cages

The city had no doors, or walls, or trenches

Beautiful huts in dense gardens and green fields

Paths through green fields

Led to forests, fields and deserts

Young girls would run the city

Youthful couples would whisper of love by the riverside

The elders would rest beneath the shades of Chinar trees

To advise, converse and plan

And kids would laugh and sing in streams

Or would play with deer in meadows

The angry, raging, wrathful or the gloomy

Would be taken to the wise, skilful doctor of the city

Who was skilled to treat such ailments


People till then had not learned

The skill of slavery and submission

The city had no masters and no slaves

No maids, no servants

Kids were obedient

The elders thought

That kids are closer to nature

And knew it’s secrets

They understood

The songs of birds, music of brooks and whispers of forests

The silence of mountains and that of deserts

And were friends with roaming spirits

And they knew…

The dreadful cave and all its secrets…


For this reason

Their opinion was respected

They advised on big affairs

So sometimes

The kids and elders would come together

In the shade of Chinar trees

Amidst laughs and plays and smiles

They would take big big decisions


The Great Conqueror of World

One day by the river

Flowers fresh like all the time

Noisy kids jumping with joy

Couples whispering of love

Birds singing

Suddenly a cold storm rose from the horizon of barren desert

At the sunset

Amidst dark clouds

A strange rider appeared

With black dress riding a black horse

His iron mask had sketch of dragon

Carrying a lance, a shield and hunter

He came close to the door of city

Rage brimming from his face

Strong and mighty, enraged and brutal

He came close to the door of city

Girls and boys, and kids and elders

All gathered to see the stranger

The rider raised his lance and shouted

In voice so loud and sharp and scary

‘‘O the dwellers of this city… who am I?’’

I am Ego

The mightiest in the world

The great conqueror of all battles

From this moment, your city is mine

You are my subjects…

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About farazjamilkakar

Faraz Jamil Kakar is from Pishin, a small town in Pakistan near the Afghan border. He translates Pashto poetry into English in his free time and has translated some work of famous Pashto poets such as Ghani Khan, Bahauddin Majroh and Bari Jahani. He believes that the literary work of such great scholars is the best intellectual resource that can challenge and counter the ideological roots of the menace of religious extremism, racism, tribalism, casteism, nationalism, patriotism and religionism in this region. His interest in poetic work of great poets like Ghani Khan and Bahauddin Majrooh lies in the fact that their work symbolise and carry forward the centuries old tradition of mystic poetry in the Pashtun society. Faraz Jamil Kakar is reachable at: https://www.facebook.com/farazjk?viewas=100000686899395&privacy_source=timeline_gear_menu

2 thoughts on “A Dusty Heaven

  1. VijayNair

    An idyllic scene. A peace-loving community captured by Ego, the enemy at the gate.A compelling narrative and and an apt employment of personification.

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