I summon Waris Shah


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I summon Waris Shah today, speak from thy grave, and find the next page in the Book of Love.

Once a daughter of Punjab cried and you wrote long and long, today millions of Punjabi women are crying out to you, Waris Shah!

Rise! O sympathizer of the victims, rise and look at your own Punjab. Fields are covered with corpses today, and the river Chenab is bloodstained.

Someone must have poisoned the Five Rivers and the deadly water, when irrigated, is poisoning the land.

Our fertile land is now producing venom from every pore. The sky seems to have turned red from the bloodstained cries.

The toxic forest wind is screaming. The fluty sounds of the bamboos seems to have turned into deadly snakes.

With the first snakebite, the mantras lost the charms. The second tuned all into snakes.

As people drank the deadly water, then it was only poison all around. With the pain of poison, the limbs of Punjab turned blue.

Songs in the streets are silenced. Dresses are snatched away.
Girls left their play-groups. The spinning wheels were left shattered and scattered.

Our nuptial beds are like castaway boats. Our hanging swing of childhood, the Pipal tree, is broken.

All the flutes that played the melodies of love, have lost their tunes. The valorous brothers of Ranjha has forgotten that art.

Blood rained on the earth, and graves oozed it too. The amorous princesses today wail at the graveyards.

Everyone are prisoners have become thieves of beauty of love. Where can another Waris Shah be found today?

I summon Waris Shah today, speak from thy grave, and find the next page in the Book of Love.

 

 

*Amrita Pritam Via Waris Shah

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