"Saaqi chaman mein aa ke agar benaqaub ho,

kalian bane surahian, shabnam sharaab ho."
"If she came to the garden in spring
and lifted the veil awhile
the buds would be my chalice
and the dew of the morning would be wine."
And she came, a distraught being,
the saddest creature in the garden green.
A self portrait by an artist who refused
to paint with the shades of idyllic dreams.
The woman who saw her own visage,
and reflected back on the sky
the light that shattered the mirror.
A trial at being herself, a trip across the planes,
introspective, are bound to dissolve the mist.
She stood among the thorns and touched the rose.
She stopped the hand that held
the chalice thought to be a glass of wine.
She snatched and spilled the contents
to the root of the rose and the woodbine.

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