The earth opens her warm arms
to embrace me
The earth is my mother
She understands the sorrow
of my wandering
My wandering
is an old crow
that conquers
the very top of an aspen
a thousand times a day
Perhaps life is a crow
that each dawn
dips its blackened beak
in the holy well of the sun
Perhaps life is a crow
that takes flight with Satan's wings
Perhaps life is Satan himself
awakening a wicked man to murder
Perhaps life is the grief-stricken earth
who has opened up her bloodied arms to me
And here I give thanks
on the brink of ‘victory'
Peshawar City
July, 2002