Posted by: Ron DuBour | May 7, 2016

afternoons of ours~by Ziauddin Bulbul



afternoons of ours

Those bright and glowing
afternoons of ours
aren’t anymore I know it very well
Yet those moments and minds are whispering.—

In my memoirs
Now that mystical path appears
Wind—mingled world, stormy
movement of coconut and tamarisk trees
remaining cockeyed with the windmill.—

Yes that afternoon was filled with love
As you well as I know that there was two shivering hearts
‘Love you’ the phrase we didn’t utter to each other
We’d forgotten everything even the language of world

I’ve forgotten
In that dis-remembrance state of mine
You aren’t present and me too not even

That path, those afternoon from our life has been diminished
Yet sometimes peeps in memory remaining nameless

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