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Royal Chase (after Nizami) We walked into the garden With miniature pine trees, casual deer and Singing fountains : it was then That I realized the royal hunt was Going on, scorched grass, Illuminated manuscripts smeared with blood, Santours in flame; the clock- you said- Was turned here 400 years back And the battle of Kosovo Shifted in time, with bright yataghans And mutilated soldiers : the rigid, The senseless and the cruel ruled Your garden, my shah of shahs, You had to leave Nizami's garden quickly, And become a nomad burnt by fame! I was the last 'Northern province' of your empire you fought for, my house disappeared in heavy bombing, the language of our children sprinkled with foreign accents, the angels on Christian frescoes in distant monasteries had lost their wings, their flights reduced to nightly escapades to the cover-pages of some dubious newspapers where EVERY THING is fit to print, except for our exiled songs and our daily worries that bear no official translator's stamp.
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