Its pain is not subsiding, as I made
that dark substance of vision melt away.
No one asked the curator of the house of mirrors;
and also the one who had been writing
In the darkest labyrinths of time.
Lamenting some other darkness.

All were looking for some bright fresh dawn,
and somewhere were sown the seeds of deep dusk.
I brought it down on my fists;
what amazing creatures these eyes are.

And now they tell me,
that cure it with some pieces of glass.
Ah! My bright eyes.

Peshawar
Jan 23,2011

Sadiqullah Khan

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-bright-eyes/