Time-Seeds Poem by Hanzala Han

Time is fragrant gun-powder; a yellow garden mistakenly intrudes the galaxy of stars;

Before moon-rise, standing under a henna plant, smearing lac-dye on her forehead, cheek and chin, the bride hums a bridal song; on a river bank, having a scythe in his hand, the groom tells the tale of cutting water.

The world goes on smashing time-seeds nonstop; among countless concerns a solitary he-bee feels for the queen-bee; ah, flying its mane, a white horse runs towards a dense forest;

Life is a fragrant flower in the blunder of the stone slab and the pestle: the stationed and the moving.