Muhammad Shanazar - The Complaining Cries

The gushing blows of the future wind,
Bring echoes of the distant voices,
Complaining Cries of the descendants,
Against muddling refined pure nature,

The wailings disturb my sleep at night,
As the ghosts haunt one in dreams,
Bring the dews of anguish on the forehead
And make me old ere the age ripe.

“Oh! Fathers, grandfathers, forefathers,
What heritance we have been bestowed?
Is it a world, God made a thing fair,
Where find we drab treeless mountains,
And clouds dropp black sooty rains,
Waters all around and underneath,
Pungent, too smelly, hard to take,
Futile lands, eroded seas, smoky spheres,
And singed surface remind us Inferno? ”

“Ah! Cool breeze, snow clad peaks,
White flakes of clouds, starry nights,
Glimmering lakes with the shadow of moon,
Smokeless airs, clear trickling founts,
Spectacles of covered green hills,
Sweet songs of the birds melodious,
And blooming spring were the things of past.”

“Oh! Fathers, let it be revealed to us,
Why are we for the wrongs undone,
Being punished in the zones of Hell.”

Muhammad Shanazar

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