The oak wood burning I smelt last night br In total darkness when only a few things br Had happened in our lives br From the distant past br And into the morose evenings br When your fingers would bring br And break into pieces br Oak wood for the fireplace with light of lantern br br Life went by when the yellow winter br Would set in the night’s deep pleasure br When life was no glory but for a while br It had stopped for us br To feel what it all was about br In heavy rains when the mud br Of that enchanted land br Would turn into slippery ground br With water falling from the roof br When many events in our life had yet to come br br When like cocoon we would wrap ourselves in silk br Magic realism was the food for thought br The books thrown on the hand made rug br The beautiful bed made of straps half a century ago br When my parents had seen and woven many dreams br The dreams which came into reality in me br br And like the wood piece br That we used to burn to see in the dark br Oily wood which that great old lady in the village br Told us was good for the evil eye br The magic in me and the delights of the day br br I remember for want of doing anything br I picked guns from our family arsenal br To clean and oil and one gun it was said br Was used to kill elephants br But no elephants were in our village br br The high peaks and when once br I drank the water from a stream br Rain water with salt of the land in it br And when my veins br And arteries grew in rebellion br By the salts in those waters br br Last night br I rubbed my chest many times br For that smell of the burning oak wood br Was not leaving me br It was not leaving me and I felt br That it was burning me into smokebr br Sadiqullah Khanbr br