Attired in tatters though
Yet a grace is there
For with his Chaadar on
No Monster does he fear
‘Tis not a mere cloth?
A second skin is it?
Blue grey green and white
All colours seem to fit.
A piece of cloth belittles
The worth this label has
The turbans reach the skies
Really is like a coil ablaze
The bride in the palanquin
Feels safe under its grace
Like guardian Angel
When tied to her lace
Folded upon the shoulder
The farmer ploughs the soil
All it means for him
The rhythm of the toil
No carpet does he need
When it’s time to pray
On the green or near the river
The chaadar he can lay
Some bear fiancée’s name
Of passions a lovely tale
Of loyalty, warmth and love
Reflected from her coy veil
At Jarga or in Hujra
In mirth or at play
This weaved resemblance
A Pakhtun’s display
Now there is no shelter
Save the blind deaf sky
Chaadar’s the only canopy
Muffles the innocent cry
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