I’ve tuned time to the wind,
In every season, famine’s shadow.
With the changes in rules and regulations
The robin can’t unfold its delicate wings.
The seedling grows in the courtyard in self-reproach
Sprayed by the water of new distress.
With the season’s poison, poverty and flood
The dream-pitcher floats away again.
Even the sun can’t give time’s destination.
Every moments, confidence loses its track
With the onrush of tears in the sleep-shunned bed,
But that boy is never seen again.
The feathers keep falling after the hours.
How will the robin unfold its blossoming wings
And in the courtyard, on the seedling’s dying stem
Will any new leaf ever again be seen?
© Shamim Azad