Voice of the Dead

Do not pull me out of the womb of the grave, Its darkness embraces me with silence and respite, And shields me against the light of your world,                    That I have...

The Deserted Home

The dreary cobwebs block every entrance now, The portico cherishes in silence,  The memories of evening chats of those days, The cutlery in the kitchen, Pine for the lost touch of mother’s hands, The idle courtyard counts now, The numbers of hops and jumps, That...