Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Busy cities either wake up early or never sleep at all; Mine looms in the middle for decades on.  I'm strange in the strangest of cities, I fear back home they might take my bride away. I board the Dilli-Jaipur sleeper to give my heart a little rest. As dawn dies, the strange city changes  Only to bring a strange light again. As God increases the day's  brightness, My eyes hurt with the corporate reflections. Today I crave a little for my Srinagar again, A city that reflects too little, takes in too much. I grow home in my heart like a flower Taken away from its homeland to cities strange. Delhi-Jaipur NH-8

I identify my love with many things; With letters Greek and Latin, With numbers Natural and Whole, With philosophies Marxian and Hegelian. When I move my fingers  Through her tresses, it feels and sounds  Like the conjugation of Arabic verbs,  A dozen of them for the time past and present. When she along me moves,  Her gait is like Marx’s march of history, A blend of both the body beautiful And the spirit lively.