If thouíst found thyself in a strange land at night, If thou sitíst on a barrel of powder - Hold not back, keep not silent, call me with all might - I will hear thee, my dear, holler louder. Perhaps, thou liíst in a field with a ball in thy chest - Know, Iím running to thee, treading lightly, and thou shouldst have patience. Weíll go back where the grass and the air are salubrious and gracious, Only pass not away, hold thou on, do thy best! If thouírt riding a horse, thouílt get home, spreading wings - Thy good stallion should bring thee around. Heíll take thee to the places with life-giving springs, And theyíll patch up thy wounds, make thee sound. If thouírt dragging thy feet, plodding, trudging all day, Getting stuck in the mud, scrambling, treading on stones or in water, Singed in flame, weather-beaten, lamentable, threadbare or wanted - On all fours or on twos, but get home anyway! Springing from the ice sheet, here so clean are the streams - Splendid ones of the purest water. Here the trees and the flowers are nobodyís things, Weíll make them our own if we want to. Now where art thou - hast locked up or taken a long roam? What conjunctions and what intersections of paths art thou facing? Art thou tired, hast gone off the track, findíst thy problems depressing? Canst not thou really find the way back to thy home?
© Akbar Muhammad. Translation, 2016
[Adapted from Alec Vagapovís ďIf You Are in a Strange Land at NightĒ.]