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Wasted perhaps this very vigil is
A tale that makes me whisper, please!
Scorches the soul; this pomogranate burst
Taliban, tyranny, tragedy and blind trust
Endless its nights; its days a kind of curse
Dauntlessly but sanity claws, its nerves terse

Vigil it keeps over people who calmly accept
Insanity shrouded in verses, wives stoned for being suspect
Grief over books nailed to the skies
Irreverent here are a little fidayeen’s cries
Live, it tells me, your life’s far far nice

This btw, is an ode in appreciation of a book that am reading right now called Wasted Vigil (if you didn’t realise it already — the first letters of the peom make up the title..a favourite trick of mine :). This is by a London-based Pakistani writer Nadeem Aslam about everyday life in Afghanistan from the time of the Soviet invasion to the defeat of the Talibans. Perhaps because of its topicality or perhaps because it is a subject that I get passionate about or perhaps because it is indeed a heartrending story..I don’t know the reason but this book has seeped into my dreams and is snaking along my skin. I want it to get over quickly and I don’t want it to get over at all. And unlikely I will get over it ever.

 

 


 

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