~~
A wreath was
made in this garden
which I was left
on your feet
I tuned up all
in the world of music
will this burn clear
after the death
  
when you went through
I wrote a song
in the dark
Though as much as
I drink nectar
will ever this insatiable thirst
be satisfied without you

You kept best in tune
Ah! Ever it honey
Today the pain is lorn
If any foreseeable Regret
Even the river,
Flowing beyond

I know, you do not turn
do not play that song again
But the heart
wants a little bliss
I'm wandering lonely
In the obsessed of
known tunes
Stand at the gloom night's
On the shore of the past

~~  
~মুশফিক উস সালেহীন

Spread thin
as the edges of
sleep...only to
weigh in on two
feet defying dream
with dream.
Curtain upon curtain
pulled aside...keen
to that warbling white,
absolute pitch.

Let the poetry...
Write itself....
As the ripe new moon
strums the swaying
silhouettes of the night.

Let the poetry...
Write herself...
With the vast
expanse of obsidian sky.
Pocked subtly with the shy
murmurs of the stars...
Offering solace and peaceful respite.

Let the poetry...*
Write of you...
As the splendour...
Envelopes each unspoken letter.
Embedding words of warmth,
that seize my heart
in a state of enamour...
Before taking its majestic flight.