As It Is Poem by Rahman Henry

Silent books
And a song more silent than those
Sitting around my minaret of painfulness, without a word—
That's all. I never seek more.

Have the books become selfreaders? Meanwhile

The lyricless song was playing in its mind
An appropriate tune—
And the minaret of painfulness is astonished;

Which of these three are you? The question
Is still not important;

If the past and the future have the same tensionous steam in a common river, then that question can be of importance. For the time being,

The stone is the main focus. Pregnant. With all possibilities of blossom
Labor pain moans