Wednesday, August 08, 2007

A country without a post office

"At a certain point I lost track of you.
when you left even the stones were buried:

Who is the guardian tonight of the Gates of Paradise?
My memory is again in the way of your history.
You needed me. You needed to perfect me.

In your absence you polished me into the Enemy.
Your history gets in the way of my memory.
I am everything you lost. Your perfect Enemy.

I am being rowed through Paradise in a river of Hell:
Exquisite ghost, it is night.

The paddle is a heart; it breaks the porcelain waves.
It is still night.
The paddle is a lotus.
I am rowed-
as it withers-toward the breeze which is soft as if it had pity on me.

I'm everything you lost.
You won't forgive me.
My memory keeps getting in the way of your history.

I hid my pain even from myself;
I revealed my pain only to myself."

Only certain lines that I liked from Agha Shahid Ali

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