flowers

 

april

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

---

The Waste Land

By T. S. Eliot

random

On Missing

I pick a handful of clouds 

Standing at the top of the cliff 

Mother calls from behind, the usual “be careful” 

happiness floats

- happiness floats.

It doesn’t need you to hold it down.

It doesn’t need anything.

Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,

and disappears when it wants to.

You are happy either way.

Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house

and now live over a quarry of noise and dust

cannot make you unhappy.

Everything has a life of its own,

it too could wake up filled with possibilities

of coffee cake and ripe peaches,

and love even the floor which needs to be swept,

the soiled linens and scratched records . . .

.. and it flows out of you into everything you touch. 

____

So Much Happiness

by Naomi Shihab Nye

قید

کچھ علاقے ایسے ہوتے ہیں جن میں آوازوں کی جگہ نہیں ہوتی۔ شائد وہ مقام اپنے تمام قصے وقت کے بہاؤ میں بہت پہلے کسی اور دن بیان کر چکے ہیں اور اب اظہار کی بے سود آزمائش سے گزر کر خالی ہاتھ بیٹھے ہیں۔ یا شائد انہوں نے اپنا قصہ ہر گزرتے مسافر سے اتنی بار دہرایا کہ وہ اپنی قدر کھو بیٹھا۔