I , deeply and distantly, throw the bewilderment of yesterday , of today and of what is still on its way tomorrow into the River Nile. Encountered with golden sands, the feeling of loss comes to my mind and life. It seems that day is right now full of my sight, but night is already scattered around my feet.
Covers up the desert the veil of belligerent muslins. Women are rendered voiceless, a falcon gliding over silent.
I praise the sand as Mortal Star. Life is the permanent present. I walk into that vast plain of stars.
YOU ARE READING
The monsoon literature
PoetryOur self is always so distant a leap from the surroundings. Literature is the medium of the minority to revolt, to state existence.
