The Dead Bush & The Nightingale
written by: Kawsar Khalil
Over to a dream that chased me afar tonight
To recite what I know is my one birthright
The pain hidden deep within is worth a pestilence
A haunted road may not kill, though such a silence
How April fooled all of us, you remember, you know
And all kept waiting; – let love begin to flow
But May with all its ethereal fragrance and colors
Mourned upon our dreams, were we smugglers?
Be it the grim June or scorching July
Slowly the buds grew with stalks held high
Till October they drooped with their weight
At last, the pride was to meet its fate
The philomel from branch to branch kept its word
She wasn’t just an ordinary, forlorn bird
Every cell bears the impression she made
Woe to me! I can’t believe, how she got slayed.
Listen not a word of me just walk a few furlongs
In my basket lies pain, void of charming birdsongs
Even the last petal is dead and all leaves pale
That greased coffin was to take the last rusted nail
- The Dead Bush & The Nightingale - April 18, 2025
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