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The Waking Corpse
by
Uzma Sadaf
There is a thing, incomplete
There is a corpse, the half corpse
If you happen sometimes to pass the grave yards
You may have a look
A shrine in which there are the broken bones
Scattered every where
They have also a story to tell
Perhaps you know, that many years ago
I had departed from you
Then in my loneliness, dreams disturbed me every day
Dreams full of bewilderment
I knew this reality that I would never
Be able to see you again
You could see me in the mirror of any accident
In the broken pieces of any dream
Perhaps you don’t know what agony is this idea
And in that reality that I would never
Be able to see you again
My ashes would be taken! away by the winds
And deposited into the wide seas
And all the voices would come to silence
And we would never be able to meet again
You would quench the thirst of your hope
By placing a sheet on my grave
Or burning a lamp there
Or you would take a handful of dust
And thus have a feeling of touching me
But I shall not be able to do anything
What would I tell to the darkness
What would I tell to the graveyard
Would I be able to speak
Perhaps I would not be able to say anything
But O, my love, you must visit my grave
And listen to my story in such a way
That all the times, all the ages become aware of it
You must listen in such a way
That all the past begins to peep
And bring itself back for some time
You should listen to my story in such a way
That all the ruins become awake for another time
The silence of the jungle should begin to hum again
You must tell my story in such a way
That I feel consolation
Yes you must come only once
To make all the ages get together
Please swear that you would come
My dust will remain wherever it is
You must come, you must swear
That you would come.
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