THE SPRING DREAM

I used to run over air in my dreams

A swarm of bees used to escort me

I used to see an old lady harvesting lentils

Buffaloes fleeing towards the river.

The Warbling Nightingale in the blooming orchard

The flock of parrots in the morning sky

A gentle gale waving her hair

Picking of guavas by a bunch of kids

I was startled from my dream

It is evening, I catch sight of

The lady wiping her tears 

Her crop is devastated by frost

An array of buffalows in the dusty countryside

Returning home with tired feet

A fierce storm ripped through the orchards.

The nightingle has lost its babies

Crows are cawing in the dusk

Hot loo is scrouging the old man

Children are crying over ruined orchard

The dimming sky is overcast by dust

With tired steps, I am crossing the dust wall.

-Moin Khan