Burning Oak Wood Poem by Sadiqullah Khan

The oak wood burning I smelt last night
In total darkness when only a few things
Had happened in our lives
From the distant past
And into the morose evenings
When your fingers would bring
And break into pieces
Oak wood for the fireplace with light of lantern

Life went by when the yellow winter
Would set in the night’s deep pleasure
When life was no glory but for a while
It had stopped for us
To feel what it all was about
In heavy rains when the mud
Of that enchanted land
Would turn into slippery ground
With water falling from the roof
When many events in our life had yet to come

When like cocoon we would wrap ourselves in silk
Magic realism was the food for thought
The books thrown on the hand made rug
The beautiful bed made of straps half a century ago
When my parents had seen and woven many dreams
The dreams which came into reality in me

And like the wood piece
That we used to burn to see in the dark
Oily wood which that great old lady in the village
Told us was good for the evil eye
The magic in me and the delights of the day

I remember for want of doing anything
I picked guns from our family arsenal
To clean and oil and one gun it was said
Was used to kill elephants
But no elephants were in our village

The high peaks and when once
I drank the water from a stream
Rain water with salt of the land in it
And when my veins
And arteries grew in rebellion
By the salts in those waters

Last night
I rubbed my chest many times
For that smell of the burning oak wood
Was not leaving me
It was not leaving me and I felt
That it was burning me into smoke