Sughra Watches

So Sughra, what do you strain for

Perched on the walls watching,

Slowly rubbing your feet sore

As you kick away the frustration?

Those crows will not become flags.

Those Jinn spinning dust in the sands,

That straining beast laden with bags,

Don’t belong to your caravan

I see you crane that trembling frame,

Squinting at blots on the horizon,

Stuck to the sides in pain,

Drawn out by longing.

What will you do Sughra,

When that grand caravan

Withers back to you

Shorn of its glories like a shell

With its pearl shaken out?

What will you do Sughra,

When you find bosoms empty

And grooms ground dead,

Leaving widows that sway

As the black swallows them?

What will you do Sughra

When you run from old face

To old face, aged by fear

Looking for a brother to place

His powerful arms around you?

What will you do Sughra

When all those dreams you waxed,

Wane into horror as you search

For a father left desolate

And desecrated in the desert?

What will you do Sughra,

When you see the rope burn,

The collars’ brand on the flesh

And the stoops of so many

Broken backs shuffling slowly forward?

What will you do Sughra,

When you find no cradle,

No prattle from toddlers,

No four year old sister,

Only mothers stuttering in the sun?

Look no more Sughra,

There is no caravan today,

It lies burnt in the far far

Furnace of Nineveh.

Look no more, as even now,

Removed from your imminence

I, Sadiq, know not how

I can see it myself.

By Ali. A. Naqvi