THREE VERSIONS OF THE DEATH OF MIR MIRAN
(1761)
-
Sheenagh Pugh (U.K.)
1
It was three years to the
day
since he had drowned the women
of his enemy’s house.
He was on campaign, in his tent,
sleeping the sleep of the unjust
and successful. There came a storm:
the lightning struck, found him
through canvas, through silken hangings,
set him alight.
It was his time.
2
It was three years to the day
since their bodies were broken
on rocks, torn in the current.
They came eyeless, discoloured,
with weeds for bangles. Their voices
hoarse, they whispered their way
into his sleep. His flesh kindled
with their hate, but he was dead
of fright already
in the gods’ time.
3
It was three years to the day
since the young dancing-girl
had lost her sister.
It is not wise to trust
one’s vengeance to gods or chance.
Better to arm oneself,
await a dark night, stab quickly,
upset a lamp, escape
as the flames take hold,
in one’s own time.