It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet Stand before a glass and tie my tie.

It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning When the light drips through the shutters like the dew, I arise, I face the sunrise, And do the things my fathers learned to do. Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die, And I myself on […]

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight To divide us forever.

And the shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves Interlace with low voices and footsteps and sunlight To divide us forever.

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

I love you, what star do you live on?

I love you, what star do you live on?

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive, The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves, In the drowse of the sunlight, among the low voices, I suddenly face you.

In the mazes of loitering people, the watchful and furtive, The shadows of tree-trunks and shadows of leaves, In the drowse of the sunlight, among the low voices, I suddenly face you.

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

Once I loved, and she I loved was darkened. Again I loved, and love itself was darkened. Vainly we follow the circle of shadowy days. The screen at last grows dark, the flutes are silent. The doors of night are closed. We go our ways.

Once I loved, and she I loved was darkened. Again I loved, and love itself was darkened. Vainly we follow the circle of shadowy days. The screen at last grows dark, the flutes are silent. The doors of night are closed. We go our ways.

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry To go our devious secret ways, forgetting Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed, We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves. The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.

The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry To go our devious secret ways, forgetting Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed, We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves. The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

You know, without my telling you, how sometimes A word or name eludes you, and you seek it Through running ghosts of shadow,—leaping at it, Lying in wait for it to spring upon it, Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound: Until, of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest, You hear it, see it flash among the branches, And scarcely knowing how, suddenly have it— Well, it was so I followed down this music, Glimpsing a face in darkness, hearing a cry, Remembering days forgotten, moods exhausted, Corners in sunlight, puddles reflecting stars—

You know, without my telling you, how sometimes A word or name eludes you, and you seek it Through running ghosts of shadow,—leaping at it, Lying in wait for it to spring upon it, Spreading faint snares for it of sense or sound: Until, of a sudden, as if in a phantom forest, You hear […]

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

Of what she said to me that night—no matter. The strange thing came next day. My brain was full of music—something she played me—; I couldn’t remember it all, but phrases of it Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories, Seeking for something, trying to tell me something, Urging to restlessness: verging on grief. I tried to play the tune, from memory,— But memory failed: the chords and discords climbed And found no resolution—only hung there, And left me morbid . . . Where, then, had I heard it? . . .

Of what she said to me that night—no matter. The strange thing came next day. My brain was full of music—something she played me—; I couldn’t remember it all, but phrases of it Wreathed and wreathed among faint memories, Seeking for something, trying to tell me something, Urging to restlessness: verging on grief. I tried […]

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you: Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you: No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat. Dreams—they are madness. Staring eyes—illusion. Let us return, hear music, and forget . . .

Let us retrace our steps: I have deceived you: Nothing is here I could not frankly tell you: No hint of guilt, or faithlessness, or threat. Dreams—they are madness. Staring eyes—illusion. Let us return, hear music, and forget . . .

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020

Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass, Through many doors to the one door of all. Soon as it’s opened we shall hear a music: Or see a skeleton fall . . .

Through soundless labyrinths of dream you pass, Through many doors to the one door of all. Soon as it’s opened we shall hear a music: Or see a skeleton fall . . .

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by Suhel Ahmad | Last Updated on June 12, 2020 | Created on June 12, 2020