At midnight in the bakery at the corner
While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked
I remember the Rahman of my childhood
And Asmat's sparkling eyes
Playing carom with me
At midnight in the bakery at the corner
While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked
I am boozing alone in my room
In front of me fried liver pieces gone cold in a plate
All my friends migrated to the Gulf
At midnight in the bakery at the corner
While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked
The wife of the Pathan next door enters my room
Closes the door and turns her back to me
I tell her, sister, go find someone else
When the bread develops its sponge, the smell
Of the entire building fills my nostrils.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem