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Taxila/Margalla - poem
Literary Review, Summer, 1994 by Alamgir Hashmi
Licked off the ground with tongues of steel or crushed into stone floors of these neo-Islamic houses and the uptight slate of roads driven, they cry with tears as big as boulders rolling down their dark cheeks. The umbilicus is cut; the earth's gashes are ever-new, unhealed: it rises here and there with its amphoras for holding lovers like liquid, surplus grain; to envelop and conceal a maze of fine-ticking cities from the wanton gaze of time future's the worst that could happen.
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Now these leftover mountains are moving away from here on nervous feet, looking askance, for safety is in moving on. Where they will go, split what country, joint which continents - America with Asia to repatriate Columbus? no one is in the know. Whatever be the case, their silence is proverbial, glistening old as the language removing shard and reject, or the edges of obsidian from its thought. Each hiking trail winces at my approaching steps; birds sound warning cries; shrubs green out and get in the way flaring like autumn leaves.
COPYRIGHT 1994 Fairleigh Dickinson University
COPYRIGHT 2004 Gale Group
