Poetry Is The Blossom Of Earth

Poetry Is The Blossom Of Earth

Poetry is the blossom of earth
It must be grown in the land only
Those who talk about the heavens
are not poet.
What is in the blue!
Nor air neither mud
Neither daylight nor water…
The little bit silt that the paradise held
When it was consecrated with life
Then flowers of love bloomed
And fruits of taste started ripening on it
and it started to seek out the earth to dwell.
Because
The clay meets the clay in the end
The sky does not accept the earth
In the heaven only the souls dwell
not the bodies…
And for poesy
the form is a must
Poetry reveals on the humans and not on the angels!

(Translated from Urdu into English by Bina Biswas)