"Beside the Kabul River" by Sayed Rasul Rasa

Though somewhat out of place in his book The Golden Pomegranate, Mr. Bowen decided to include a English translation of a Pashto poem and a short biography of his friend Syed Rasul Rasa who was a popular Pashtun poet and the author of several novels. I have copied Sayed Rasul Rasa's biography (Mr. Rasa has since passed away but I was unable to locate the date) as it originally appeared in 1947:

SAYED RASUL RASA

BORN IN A.D. 1910

Sayed Rasul, whose takhhallus is Rasa (the accomplished) was born at Nowshera, in Peshawar District. As a young man he became well known for his contributions to various Pashtun periodicals, particularly the Khyber Magazine, in which the following poem first appeared.
Sayed Rasul became a schoolmaster in 1937, but fortunately his professional duties, first as Junior English Master at the Peshawar High School, and later at Haripur, in Hazara district, did not interfere with his literary activities: verses, articles, and stories continued to flow from his pen until an enlightened Government Department, realizing that in the East poetry and publicity should be induced to step forth hand in hand, in 1942 appointed him Translator-Announcer at the New Delhi Broadcasting Station; he later became Pashto Song Publicity Officer, and is, at the time of this writing, a Commentator in the Middle Eastern section of All-India Radio.
Sayed Rasul is the most distinguished Pashto poet alive today, and his verse, of which "Beside the Kabul River" is a good example, is notable both for its delightfully poetic language, and for the rich imagery with which the poet usually adorns his theme.

LAHORE-July 1947

"Beside The Kabul River"

Where dark the swirling water sweeps,
With woods on either hand,
A young man sits alone and weeps
Upon the river strand.

He sighs "Alas, my Love was kind,
Alas, my Love pretended
To keep me constantly in mind-
And thus the matter ended."

A little wave crept up the sand
and touched the poet's feet::
She said "You do not understand
Where love and friendship meet::

For if, though lovely as the rose,
No love for thee she bears,
Thy heart should once more gain repose,
Thine eyes forget their tears;

But if each hour that passes makes
A tally in Grief's score,
Poor singer, til thy sad heart breaks,
Weep on for evermore."

A view of the Kabul River at sunset near Nowshera.