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Aimanu Begum Poems
The Scent Of A Woman
They find me beautiful Some send their furtive glances On my way like a coy mistress Others confront me in the eyes.
A woman is just dead flesh
Dark fear plagues my mind, I dare not go out. The streets are full with prowling scavengers.
Marriage: Not A Licence
You call it love your tool of torture upon my body, on my soul.
I Am No Caged Bird
I laugh A thousand springs rush Down the mountain slope The swing of my hips as I walk
A letter to my Ex
One last word my dear, I will not ask how you are. It is already clear you and I are
The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter
I saw the small plant In the deserted tin shed Growing happily in the dark Under a broken wooden crate
What is love?
You talk of love to me, But you know my dear I wonder, if you understand what love really should be.
Waiting for you
You know, these days sometimes I am almost in love with death. You are surprised. But I too wonder if it is possible
I am not modern
You think I am not bold, my views a thousand years old. I am not modern you bet
My mother, she is lying there, on her bed. She seems to fade
The sea within
My world static now. I am dead to everything except the sound of the sea
Give me sunshine
A heaviness persists on my soul like a foggy curtain in January morning. Give me a little sunshine, the sun refuses to rise in my sky
I am Hamlet no more
A wild feeling crept into me and wanted to yell, to holler out. May be a drunk feeling arose from a fascination
A beautiful day is about to end The sun still shining In a cerulean sky Tinted with red and pink
Comments about Aimanu Begum
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
The Scent Of A Woman
They find me beautiful
Some send their furtive glances
On my way like a coy mistress
Others confront me in the eyes.
With sauciness survey my body hurriedly
I pass by haughtily aware of them
Men they throng at my door
Come creeping crawling by night
Married men young bachelors
Their guilty eyes blinded by the sun
Softly knock at my door
Knowing I am alone in my room
No more afraid I laugh aloud
They scurry away quailed
On the street I meet them
Squinting eyes greedy
Their quick glance expectant
Drawn by my smile
May be the look in my ...