The chained moon

With the sight of chained moon there is no hope for the day

Mark what hath happened to the silken route of Afghan People

Till trade was fine there seemed no loss of smile for the goods

Till the men burrowed deep to toil under the Afghan sun

There smitten love wound up in the alleys on the Khyber

There was a penny shift in the thoughts on the noon

I am sitting on a pile of dusk for a modern vehicle for the Gods on the moon

And there lone moon shone its husky light on what ploughed down on the ground

In the rough Afghan terrain where plenty of wounds open their mouths

And I must resign myself to the wondrous rain and fall silent forever!

 

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