The Death Of Love Poem by ABU ZAFOR KHAN

If love falls off from the apron of a woman
No sound of wings of the night bird is heard.
When at the first day the fingers played on the two- leaved stem of the tree
and the branches opened
Some days the birds flew
The mysterious light enlightened the leaves.

Now it is solitude
Some days, just the initial days
The path used to turn into
the darkness more than as it was before,
It seemed in this luminous darkness
The lotus would bloom touching water
A few leaves wet by the rain
would reach the boat.

Now the cloud cries
due to the lamentation of unhappiness!
I become busy with the burning sunrise
The soil no more is under my feet
Let it go elsewhere
I rather will float in the air.

The temple as it were the crematorium.
My heart is compelled to be cemetery to cultivate the dead.
Know you not, the grave itself is alive
Where the dead start their lives

If the heart becomes a residence of insects
The birds seeking home lose the evening.