To Sahir Ludhianvi ...
Clouds hovering beneath a silver moon
Have cast a shadow on the grass tonight
And I do not know whether, what my feet
Tramples over now, is my own profile.
The wind ruffling my hair is to this night
What pain is to Dutt's Cinemascope drawer
An ethereal hermit, smooth and silent
Inscribing melancholy within its beholder.
The Earth, tired of fighting shadows
Pines for the end, and promises futile;
Irony smiles through cold branches,
Clouds oblivious, remain high on moonshine.
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