Death is a meeting place of sea and sea.

Death is a meeting place of sea and sea.

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

Time is a dream, he thinks, a destroying dream; It lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas; It covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls. Where was the woman he loved? Where was his youth? Where was the dream that burned his brain like fire? Even a dream grows grey at last and falls.

Time is a dream, he thinks, a destroying dream; It lays great cities in dust, it fills the seas; It covers the face of beauty, and tumbles walls. Where was the woman he loved? Where was his youth? Where was the dream that burned his brain like fire? Even a dream grows grey at last […]

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

Lovers walk in the noontime by that fountain. Pigeons dip their beaks to drink from the water. And soon the pond must freeze.

Lovers walk in the noontime by that fountain. Pigeons dip their beaks to drink from the water. And soon the pond must freeze.

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

I walk in a cloud of wonder; I am glad. I mingle among the crowds; my heart is pounding; You do not guess the adventure I have had! . . . Yet you, too, all have had your dark adventures, Your sudden adventures, or strange, or sweet . . . My peril goes out from me, is blown among you. We loiter, dreaming together, along the street.

I walk in a cloud of wonder; I am glad. I mingle among the crowds; my heart is pounding; You do not guess the adventure I have had! . . . Yet you, too, all have had your dark adventures, Your sudden adventures, or strange, or sweet . . . My peril goes out from […]

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

His thoughts were blown and scattered like leaves; He thought of the pail . . . Why, then, was it forgotten? Because he would not need it?

His thoughts were blown and scattered like leaves; He thought of the pail . . . Why, then, was it forgotten? Because he would not need it?

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

Was forty, then, too old for work like this? Why should it be? He’d never been afraid— His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . . But dreams had meanings.

Was forty, then, too old for work like this? Why should it be? He’d never been afraid— His eye was sure, his hand was steady . . . But dreams had meanings.

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

He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly, As if he knew for certain he walked to death: But with his usual pace,—deliberate, firm, Looking about him calmly, watching the world, Taking his ease . . .

He would not yield, he thought, and walk more slowly, As if he knew for certain he walked to death: But with his usual pace,—deliberate, firm, Looking about him calmly, watching the world, Taking his ease . . .

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

Something had changed—but it was not the street— The street was just the same—it was himself.

Something had changed—but it was not the street— The street was just the same—it was himself.

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

More towers must yet be built—more towers destroyed— Great rocks hoisted in air; And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . . And so he did not mention his dream of falling But drank his coffee in silence, and heard in his ears That horrible whistle of wind, and felt his breath Sucked out of him, and saw the tower flash by And the small tree swell beneath him . . . He patted his boy on the head, and kissed his wife, Looked quickly around the room, to remember it,— And so went out . . . For once, he forgot his pail.

More towers must yet be built—more towers destroyed— Great rocks hoisted in air; And he must seek his bread in high pale sunlight With gulls about him, and clouds just over his eyes . . . And so he did not mention his dream of falling But drank his coffee in silence, and heard in […]

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

Each gleaming point of light is like a seed Dilating swiftly to coiling fires. Each cloud becomes a rapidly dimming face, Each hurrying face records its strange desires.

Each gleaming point of light is like a seed Dilating swiftly to coiling fires. Each cloud becomes a rapidly dimming face, Each hurrying face records its strange desires.

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