Like the whirlpool in the Ocean,
Like the typhoon from the sky;
Like those forest fire of the east,
Like those natives in the beach.
And those swirl inside my mind, And the wind runs with the time; And those fire in my breast; All native today put to rest.
For those fortune you would not carry; For that maiden you would not marry, For that life you crossed the gorge, For today I see all in the morgue.
Why not seek for our own roots? Why not we go back to the books? Why not pioneer a new momentum? A new race under your ever smiling sun?
Shamsud A
