Ilona Yusuf

Sarai Amanat Khan

neither the eloquent arches crumbling brickwork peacock glint of light on tile arabesque inscriptions speak though they might of the hand of the man who gave shape to his emperor’s vision the taj –elements of its brilliance here in his fiefdom –haven for travel weary horses humans -

nor the tufted ruins gaping brickwork grown through with roots and branches

nor the villagers’ faces glimpsed through doorways along alleyways belie its history you can only guess currents that might sleep behind bright smiles lie latent in synapses dull aches locked in the sockets of old eyes like well-water still inscrutable

its heavy depth the contained custodian of lives passions you can only guess what lies below the land itself centuries of raptures and rages for love money gods -

echo of voices legacy of blood and bones that feed flowers and grasses lie quiescent beneath new streets and dwellings built onto the old sarai

only the oldest living memory might remember the stroke of a pen the stroke of midnight carving villages towns fields –

sculpting separating shaping erasing tenacious threads of lifetimes generations

Voice-Box

the dog days… the dog days are over she sings

in a cottage in the hills on a monsoon night soft with the percussion of crickets

my mind winds back night driving with my son and this song this voice

first heard carrying carrying a-wing on our speed and even though we drove towards a death

deep space ink sky dark earth enfolded us and this sound

breath air held resonant rapturous ringing notes set free

Ilona Yusuf is a Pakistani poet, editor and artist/designer, all elements of which, she thinks, intersect and connect in some way.