But its like this
When I touch the paper with my pen
Weeps the eye of pen
Wiping the sheet of paper
Of the names writ on it
Of the martyrs
Who along with their precious dreams
Sleep burried deep
In their own yard
I want to cry
On my desires unfulfilled
near broken roofs somewhere
In the scattered debris
In some empty heart
lit like a lamp
perhaps to evoke
A joyful home yard
Smiling faces of children
suddenly reappearing before me
Calling me --Amma
Hugging me tight
It was not to be
Earth is silent
The sky is lost
Hamirah Rahat
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