Like Zoraster lit fires for what he sought
I burned pyres in solitude but it came naught
Like you, once Magus, when you hailed this day
But I was cold, homeless, with nothing to say
She misses you even though she sought
Hope from you but it came to naught
As you sometimes Hulked up, green and muscular
When your unruly compass hit displeasure
She remembers the early moments she had sought
Spark in your farsi eyes, but it came to naught
Sometimes I wonder which one of us bent
Her dreams and which one us most laments.
You poured whatever your nomad mind sought
Made me something other than a naught
But the Nomad-fathers had tribes to trail
I, Sadiq, am set on a skiff with no sail.
By
Ali A. Naqvi
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