Kabul and Peshawar Are the Closest of Friends
Kabul and Peshawar are the closest of friends,
as intimate as the two eyes of the beloved.
In both cities dwell women renowned for their heartbreaking beauty –
and yet when they slay me with desire, she also enlivens me with youth.
The Pashtoons are marks inscribed on a page that cleave into eloquent words –
a pungent scent that travels far from its source.
Claims of the world’s prosperity are lies
while the homes of the Pashtoons lie in ruins.
With piercing, black and predatory eyes –
how many murderers circle around me?
The stars in the heavens long for their reflection –
when streets are adorned with sequinned chadors.
The beautiful girls of the Pashtoon lands
weep tears that, like stars, glisten on their eyelashes.
Grief and tears litter the zone of separation.
Yet tomorrow, hearts will be gladdened by the joy of reunion.
Beauty spots that intimate dreams and desires,
Pictures of petals that rain down like confetti.
Although the buds of narcissi are not yet opened,
butterflies already have brushed their lips.
At each step, love is an inferno –
first the fire of longing, then the flames of separation.
Each noon of Sayel’s life is lived out in the desert.
He lives only to find the cool shadow of your hair.