Saba wears now
A bridal henna tint
On her delicate palms—
I offer her my blessings, good wishes—
Saba is grateful.
But does not say a word.
Saba’s home
Is her apparel now.
She covers her head
With its roof
She bedecks her feet
With the soft touch
Of the marble floor;
She no longer sings
Of mountains, valleys,
Waterfalls, azure skies,
She is seldom drawn
To colourful verdant sights.
Saba, delicate as dew,
Her feet bound
Hangs, like a portrait
In the window frame;
Frail, she flows not
On sun-lit shores
She opens her lips, she smiles,
But says not a word
In whispers
To any one now.
Translated from the Urdu by the poet