Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Just when I thought you would be our Lincoln And I would sing to you like Walt Whitman, ‘O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip is done’, You left the ship too soon in the shifting winds; Long before it set sail, even waiting not for it to sink. Now the sceptre you hold and the helm you steer Have broken the crown you wore and the gavel you held. Take a look at who lies on the deck dead and cold. Fearful trip ours, shameful trip be yours!

I thought she was a Jesus to me, Dividing my life like history; It was somber and bleak before she came. It was 'spring like a pleasant king' after she arrived, Like someone turning the light on again. But when she left, she left me dead and cold, Oblivious and overcast like Israeli assassinations; Like thick rubber jackboots in the Kashmir character. Like an epileptic foaming at the mouth, Shuddering and waving like rosary incantations.