Harun Al Nasif
Eight Years Ago
Thus broke the news:
He was carted to the corpse dissection room;
Last night—in the dark of early spring night
When sank down the crescent moon—
He did feel like taking his life.
His wife lay beside him—the child as well—
There abode hopes and affections—in the moonlight—
Yet what nightmare he had? That his sleep was gone?