Saiful Sirnwel Poems

Go away and run through.....
At the end of the deep forest
In the sky wearing sari
In leisure full of pain
...

The cuckoo has come to the crow,
But the crow isn't home;
So lays eggs the canny cuckoo
Ah! What a shy roam!
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On the utterance of the proscribed procession
Socrates, I remember you, I miss you...
On the tarry blood of the highway
I find the torment of the poison you drank once,
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No one can think how my bloods flow on sand
Though trembling winds blow through the vase
Where wonderful spring leaps on my flabby hand
Alas! I am alone I have no friend...
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A cowboy living in an ancient cottage,
Trends his cattle in the harbour of my heart;
Plays with my tender thoughts,
Dances merrily with my applauds,
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Poetry is my birth love: a childhood in mother's lap, a face hidden in mother's chest.
Poetry is my open sky: unobstructed playground, a swimming in the river, a sanguine sad breeze, sometimes banyan shade, sometimes tired afternoon.

Poetry is my adolescence: the thrill of first love, the arrival of waves in the far chest, the touch of a cloud in a chill, tension of unknown emotion, a sleepless night.
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