Whenever
I take pen
in my hand
dark screams
Emerge from it
perhaps
in the black ink
live
the souls of black folk.
From ‘Aur’
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Baidar Bakht:: Translator of Urdu Poetry par excellence
BAIDAR BAKHT is Adjunct Professor of Civil Engineering at the Universities of Toronto and Manitoba, Canada. He translat...
-
My daughter Little dear daughter Lights a pencil With a sharpener. The sky of the white paper Begins to be filled with light. The black bird...
-
BAIDAR BAKHT is Adjunct Professor of Civil Engineering at the Universities of Toronto and Manitoba, Canada. He translat... -
A dalit poet Leaves several things behind: A paper dripping wet with blood, A black sun On the night’s head, A river of blood, A lantern of...
No comments:
Post a Comment