ZEESHAN SAHIL (1961–2008)

Selected Poems

Translated from the Urdu by G. A. Chaussee

Rome

I want to know—

When Rome was burning

and Nero was playing his flute,

who were the people there for it all?

Who had his ear turned to the flute?

And whose eyes

glimmered in the light of the fire?

I want to know—

Who were the people praising Nero’s flutistry?

And who were fanning the embers?

How many comfortable homes were offered up to that fire?

How many magnificent buildings

turned to heaps of ash?

How many people’s bones

scattered like dust?

How many beautiful bodies

melted like candles of wax?

How many epic dramas,

how many tragic melodies,

how many songs of disappointment and love,

how many impressions of hope and heart-suspending allure

passed into nothingness?

Dismayed by the fire’s ferocity,

how many dreams vanished from the page of being?

I want to see

the record of that decimation of Rome.

Or perhaps somewhere to find

just a list of the people, the structures, the things

destroyed in that fire for all time.

Or even just to know—

When the conflagration broke out,

who were the people there with Nero,

and who were there with Rome?

Karachi

Karachi

is a forest

where you see darkness, noise,

and a thousand trees of fear

conversing with the sky

in a voice raised so high

that no one living

inside or outside the city

can even hear another’s screams.

In truth, Karachi now

isn’t a city at all.

It’s rather a cry choked out

in a state of mortal peril

briefly echoed all around.

No one has even the slightest idea

that this might also be

the cry of someone alone

calling for help.

Karachi’s taken for

an inhuman throng

by those who don’t come to assist.

Or a crowd of the blind

who get hungry

and are fed only rice pudding;

who cry out

and are made to sit through speeches;

they take each other by the hand

or not,

they move,

and draw gunfire into the air.

But now in Karachi

the firing is no longer confined just to the air.

Bullets and the sounds they make

are showing up in people’s dreams.

Karachi, though, is not a city of dreams.

There’s just one place to wait for dreams to come.

For our convenience

we use it

as a seaport

or even as a makeshift laboratory.

Where we

perform no experiments on human bodies

as everyone knows.

For that, rabbits are used

or white rats

whose fecundity

upon approaching the limits of safety

draws rat poison

and cats

from the capital.