Posted by: Ron DuBour | March 22, 2017

The dawn.—~by Ziauddin Bulbul



The dawn.—

Image may contain: one or more people, tree, outdoor and nature

The dawn.—
Refined smoke of stove is floating
touching the thatched roof of corrugated tin-shed;
I’m living, as if, confined in a steam-house. Patient.

In this morn slight pain of disease
seems to be pleasant,
which has ensconced me.
I wish I could woke you up by a single call, exactly
in this morn of early summer!

You aren’t in the vicinity
Neither in the field of messenger
nor in reality —
But in my remembrance
I’m recollecting your presence
Akin to a forgotten river
In the bank of which I used to sit on with silent pleasure.

Now in the creepy winter
I’m again listening those lost bits of moments of the river.


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