Translation: ‘A Complaint’ by Hassan Dars

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You do not have the time
To feel with your own hands
The sharp edge of history’s sword
You curse love itself,
You mock it
You do not even know
The love they give you
You don’t know the assassins’ intent
You haven’t met their new generations
Their daggers’ thirst
Unquenchable
I swear by the martyrs of Maklee
Time is the lost ring of an unknown soldier
That can fit around the finger of any thief
Now you are walking into the circus with them!
Our rope is broken midway
We have fallen into the open jaws of crocodiles.
While we lie here buried deep in our defeat
You are in the midst of their victory feast!
I wish you’d remember your land
I wish you’d remember your country
Your street

Translated from Sindhi by Mohammed Hanif and Gobind Menghwar. Order the print magazine at editor.papercuts@desiwriterslounge.net to read another original translation of Hassan Dars’ poetry by Mohammed Hanif and Gobind Menghwar.