One is not jealous of those passing on.
They sit, as Buddha, with their laps empty,
and Jinnah’s bet round their necks,
Without visions or miracles
to work their prophecies.
Silent, numb, and waiting for
the miracle of sleep
to sing them into paradise.
All round them, those alive also wait.
They dangle over the horizon, sky pointing.
Out of the night, the royal Albatrosscloses from behind,
Revving up their will
to carry themselves regally,
to believe that Jinnah,
Amidst stars, is never still.
Dr. Sohaila Javed (Islamabad)