‘In the days of war, the sun does not rise, it is always night’: Two poems on what war brings us

In The Days of War

Zeeshan Sahil

In the days of war,
love becomes simpler
and life tougher.
A soldier can take your life
in exchange for a packet of cigarettes
and for a bar of fragrant soap
that you give a girl,
you can procure
her smile, her body.

In the days of war,
people forget how
to draw lines
between explosion and an outcry
between a neighbour and a spy.
Hollow shafts become homes,
brightness becomes a blackout.
The papers write history
and death, its own name,
everywhere.

In the days of war,
the sun does not rise,
The world over, it is always night.

~~~

War

Balraj Komal

Fearsome voices arose in the dark
and smoke unfurled into the wind
A whiteness, as if of death, writhed
from horizon to horizon
and then all at once
every corner thundered with tears
A mother beat her chest until she fainted.
A sister, teary-eyed,
was still hoping.
A child, wishing for a toy as a present,
slept with his head on the doorstep.
An innocent face, its head at a window,
continued to dream.
Those eyes had been waiting for a long time.
They kept waiting.
And a whiteness, as if of death, kept writhing
from horizon to horizon.

Translated from the Urdu by Himadri Agarwal.