Dates Of The Calendar Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

Divided days
Into the dates of calendar,
Divided memories
On the pages of diary,
Fast moments counting the age,
On the dining-table of life
The contents of incidents,
The exhausted corneas of my eyes,
Hasten to the phone
Time and again,
Search for a number on the dial
Which sometimes
In the past my fingers reiterated,
Search for the sound
That spread in the morn and in the eve,
On the lofty walls of my passions,
Like tone of yaman kalyan.

Steam that rises from my cup of tea,
Is damping my universe,
And I feel
Beauty of those red love-flowers,
Which every morning
Lowered on my balcony,
Holding sleeves the sunlight,
With you voice
Vacillating on the telephone.

What happened!
Ages have passed since I heard the voice
Where have gone
Those tones of yaman kalyan

Red love-flowers still are bending
On my balcony, like a question mark,
It seems
As if across the windows of mind,
That voice still recalls me
The same voice
Which the dates of calendar
Could not divide.