Dina Nath Nadim
Dina Nath Nadim Poems
Comments about Dina Nath Nadim
The Moon Rose Like A Tsot
That day, the tsot-like moon ascended
behind the hills looking
wane and worn like a gown of Pampur
with a tattered collar and loose collar-
revealing sad scars over her silvery
She was weary and tired and
as a counterfeit pallid
deceittully given to an
unsuspecting woman labourer
by a wily master.
The tsot-like moon ascended and the
hills grew hungry.
The clouds were slowly putting out
their cooking tires.
But the forest nymphs began to kindle
their oven tires.
Such are days I can believe the moon to be
Unleavened bread, but for scars I see unseam
A neck so collared in every dissolute color; I’ll believe,
Instead, the moon is cut from threadbare Pampur tweed.
The moon is bread, if through a spent halo in decline
She yet shines, something too finely used or unseemly old,
Something a man may slip in with money owed
The peasant girls—this moon is counterfeit coin.
The moon is unleavened bread and the mountains