A lost nightingale that I am in Afghan sector
And I sing at no cost in this barren soil
On the top of a hoary mountain, unheard, unseen, where
The valiant soldiers have no time to listen to my wail.
Horrible is the hours that I spend
And I am left alone along with these debris
To be a witness of this day’s end.
I am dazzled by the artillery fire from the valleys
And I see them creep to the top
While sand melts behind their feet by the ‘burning patriotism’.
At zenith, in the panchromatic sky vultures fly with a hope
Of corpses in the valleys, when all that is calm.
Oh! you, my unknown friend, to oasis, show me the way
With these poignant memories let me fly away.