Perhaps, it is better to turn around.

I have blackened my hands

Over a stretch of time,

And I never thought of you as you are.

Now that I stand by the abyss at night

The moon beckons: come away,

Now as I stand by the Ganges in sleep

The funeral pyre calls: come away.

I can surely go,

I can choose to go in any direction--

But why should I?

I will clasp my child's face and plant a kiss

Go I will

But not right away

I will also take you along

Alone I shan't go, and certainly not at this ungodly hour.

Syed Maqsud Jamil writes creatively and is an occasional contributor to Star Literature and Reviews Pages.