In the drawers of the desk
On the table
On the rack
in the cupboard
and on the bookshelf.
I am searching for so long -
In the pages of passion
Of books new and old
In the torn tattered pockets
of the khaddar kurta
In the bag of camel leather
Where have I put the poem?
I ask
Neruda
Amichai
Rilke.
Just now I had kept them.
While I search for the poem
I find
Pen, inkpot and blank pages,
But from the diary of my heart
The poem has vanished.
From ‘Pencil aur doosri nazmein’
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