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The Clay
by
Uzma Sadaf
Not a single tear has dropped from the eye
My inner self has been changed into a stone
There was a time
When cataracts flowed inside me
The earth within was only a clay
The tiny children used to make toys,
Very fondly, with this red clay
And sang happy songs on the bank of that lake
There were butterflies flying playfully
The roses used to bloom
There was spring every where
Then, all of a sudden, it happened
That all the springs dried up
The cataracts disappeared
And there were left black stones every where
Centuries passed and no body came
And then, one day, a sculptor came this way
In the valley of these dying stones
He began to draw some lines on these stones
Today there are sculptures everywhere
In the temple of this heart
The silent sculptures have changed me as well
Into a stone, I can’t think, I can’t speak
That is why when I write words
They are also like stones
And all the people around me
Look like stones, all alike.
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