You ask me about that country whose details now escape me,
 I don't remember its geography, nothing of its history.
 And should I visit it in memory,
 It would be as I would a past lover,
 After years, for a night, no longer restless with passion,
 With no fear of regret.
 I have reached that age when one visits the heart merely as a courtesy.

I came across this while browsing the Poetry in Motion site. http://www.poetrysociety.org/postcard.html

Depending on the reader’s mood this poem can be taken to be about many things – one’s motherland, one’s past lives and, indeed, one’s past loves. The overriding theme of time eroding every landscape holds for them all.

Reading (poetry) is, to a large extent, about seeing one’s own self – the way it is at that moment in time – in a mirror provided by the writer (/poet). I rather like this particular mirror.

— Radhika

Links
http://books.guardian.co.uk/extracts/story/0,6761,844795,00.html is a very interesting article by Rushdie which has a lot about Faiz and other things.

http://www.dawn.com/2000/06/04/nat10.htm is also nice