Through The Window ( while travelling from Islamabad to Lahore )

Trees rushing by,

Like scenes from a movie,

Flying past as if in a haste,

To catch the fleeting moments,

Forever vanishing in the wink of an eye.

The lucid sun slipping slowly down,

An enormous ball of cool fire;

Hanging low just above the trees,

Already farther down.

Lush green patches of wheat and rice,

And the baked brown paths of dirt.

One chasing the other

Like playful children on a sandy beach.

No more than a blur

As I look out of the window,

But far in the distance,

Turning and swaying dizzily

Like the tireless Derveshes of the Mevlana.

I look again,

The trees are far away,

And the birds flying home,

Forming the sign of victory.

Oh, is there anything more beautiful,

Than my love, my country?

Through the distant trees

I see little hamlets;

Mud houses plain and humble.

Bare necessity, a roof over heads,

Inadequate and comfortless,

Against the untamed beast of nature.

The sun has lost its angry heat,

Now only half above the horizon.

Giving way to the gathering dusk.

Shadows mingling with the fading light,

The greens and the browns no longer apart.

I see smoke rising,

From chimneys behind the trees

Adding to the evening's melancholy;

Humble souls in modest homes,

Stoid, serene and staid in their ways;

Closer than any to reality.

As darkness closes in,

And devours the beautiful earth;

I close my eyes, and say a secret prayer;

God! please keep my land!

Save my people

From the demons

Of lust, and greed, and power;

And save it first

From the enemy within;

For,

Is there anything more beautiful

Than my beloved country???