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17. (Written in Europe) |
At London, winter wind, like sword, was biting though,
My wont to rise at early morn I didn’t forego. |
At times my heated talk to gathering pleasure lent;
My holding ’loof at times perplexed them all, I trow. |
No hope for change is there, if workers rule the land,
For those who hew the rocks, like Parvez tricks do know. |
Statecraft divorced from Faith to reign of terror leads,
Though it be a monarch’s rule or Commoners’ Show. |
The streets of Rome remind of Delhi’s glorious past,
The lesson same and charm are writ upon its brow. |
Translated by: Syed Akbar Ali Shah |
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