I

Like the remorseless monsoon that
switched sides last night
and flooded our groves and fields

They have brought their judicial duel
to our land. Now it rages unrepentant,
untempered, making a mockery of my urgency,
the suffering of my people:

Trees, telephone poles, mountains, lakes, etc.
are now all hostage to this spectacle,
this tomfoolery on our ancient land.

Was it for this, their cruel duel, my love,
that I exiled Babrak to Prague?

II

Why would you have left
the gyrating knife in the wound? And
when is it a good time for a revolution?

Now, as the clerical darkness
falls upon this land and in the distance
you can make out Pakistani mercenaries
moving in and out of the sun, your good battle
against nature has come to a stop,
and you sit beside me weeping
with your head in your hands.

Make your case, Hafizullah Amin, recite
your poem.