Ayub Khawar - Membis Godwin Chukwukamma

Ayub Khawar
Can’t Be Compensated
It can’t be compensated,
O! Innocent heart,
In front of her radiant beauty,
Humbleness of love can’t think
To bend and bow now.
Is it insufficient
That forsaking myself,
I lost sheaves of so many days and nights
For her self-conceited beauty?
There were the sheaves
Of how many days
Which remained unfastened,
Only I heaped the sheaves
In the cellar of my bygone age,
In the urge of to feel the cool shade,
Of her thick lashes,
I didn’t heed, in which sheave,
How much beautiful days were packed,
And enchantress priceless morns of those days,
On which throne of wind settled,
Wearing fragrance of which flowers.
In vain desire
To paint her lips,
With the tinges of rain-bow,
I didn’t heed in which sheave,
Noontime of which day
How awakened impacts
Of its mystical mysteries,
In the wilderness of golden sunlight.
In the season of drying chilies on the roofs,
During echoing silence of the street,
Which moments smouldered,
I didn’t heed
Those who were lost,
In her fresh gusts of warm fragrance,
They weren’t aware
Which enchanting evening laments
For which firmaments.
Amid many anguishes,
There was a candle of desire,
In front of its glow,
Bending for a while
I just wanted to read interpretation of silent,
Static glow of a word, in her deceptive and ruthless
eyes,
And wanted to narrate a dream kneaded,
In fermentation of love,
And in this entire tale of defeat,
I didn’t heed
Which sheave bears funeral of which day.
Just now the cellar of bygone age opened,
I came into senses and realized that
By mixing into dust a long age,
The loss I earned cannot occur again,
It cannot be compensated.
O! Innocent heart,
In front of her radiant beauty,
Humbleness of love can’t think
To bend and bow now.