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Moinkhan Pathan Poem
The rose has blackened in my book,
and there is no wisp of you.
Your absence brings back that one brook
that once brimmed with love and hue.
The kitchen knife lies lifeless, lone;
I cut an apple for you and me,
your laughter rings in here, I groan
in agony of that memory.
Our garden has now become mine,
and now I know how silence screams.
This lily, this peony of thine
will too leave me like a dream.
Must I go back to a ‘house’?
It oozes with your happy thoughts.
I sit by the gate and drowse
while my heart homes distraught.
Copyright © Moinkhan Pathan | Year Posted 2023
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Details |
Moinkhan Pathan Poem
Paper-like the yellow flower
lingers long after I left
that roadside by the tower
in the memory, it rests.
I stood awhile to see the shadow
of my fancy take shape.
Ah, I recall that roadside meadow
where I saw that lake.
The birds filled my heart with hue
of wonder and wilderment:
I could not with will subdue
the words to beauty I lent.
Copyright © Moinkhan Pathan | Year Posted 2023
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