Today, as always, caked with mad,

I wander hungry in the putrid city streets

In search of mad cats.

But they’re asleep.

Hidden in who knows which house, in whose thighs.

The streets are silent now. –

.

Is it the cats’ fault if I’m starving to death here?

Is it the fault of simple cats if people

To say that these poor, stark-naked animals

—only barely dressed, really—

With soft, delicate breasts and moon-like buttocks,

Are innocent –

.

And now a thought comes to mind;

It awakens my Satan, who tells me 

To give up indifference.

.

I think: Why shouldn’t I make

That person, or that thing, or that feeling

That is, fear, which hangs over my head

Like the sky

.

The pretext for my blind-sightedness?

Why not cast it down, break it.

.

Why shouldn’t I go every day

To this city’s gatherings my enemies

And rain fire upon them. – 

.

Why shouldn’t I—yes, why shouldn’t I—be Hitler? But

What is this surge of laughter? It couldn’t be those cats — 

Where should I go to hide; what should I do. –

.

      March 1960

.

From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. pp. 43 – 44

             

Today, as always, caked with mad,

I wander hungry in the putrid city streets

In search of mad cats.

But they’re asleep.

Hidden in who knows which house, in whose thighs.

The streets are silent now. –

.

Is it the cats’ fault if I’m starving to death here?

Is it the fault of simple cats if people

To say that these poor, stark-naked animals

—only barely dressed, really—

With soft, delicate breasts and moon-like buttocks,

Are innocent –

.

And now a thought comes to mind;

It awakens my Satan, who tells me 

To give up indifference.

.

I think: Why shouldn’t I make

That person, or that thing, or that feeling

That is, fear, which hangs over my head

Like the sky

.

The pretext for my blind-sightedness?

Why not cast it down, break it.

.

Why shouldn’t I go every day

To this city’s gatherings my enemies

And rain fire upon them. – 

.

Why shouldn’t I—yes, why shouldn’t I—be Hitler? But

What is this surge of laughter? It couldn’t be those cats — 

Where should I go to hide; what should I do. –

.

      March 1960

.

From: Dard kā shahr (City of Suffering). Lāhaur: Naʼī maṭbūʻāt. 1965. pp. 43 – 44