Khatoon Salma Kershet
I heard about your violent death...
And had not known about your poems.
I went searching for them, but it seems as if
Someone must have put them away.
Perhaps they would be just too lovely for our ears to hear...
Perhaps the words would be more worthy
Than our repentant hearts might be permitted to feel?
And I am left looking out of my upstairs window
At the mass of white blossoms beautifying the pale cherry trees;
Not even a wisp of wind ...the whole World is left
Silently grasping for breath;
And the fraught blossoms dares not even tremble
Should they lose their tenuous grip upon the crowded
Black twigs.
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