A Poem For Hamid Yazdani
I have no idea how you put up with the cold,
Canadian arctic cold, sleet, snow and cutting winds,
You are not, I am quite sure, in any sense old,
though not very young either. Perhaps memory unwinds
catapulting you back to Pakistan's torrid season,
the wind straight out of an oven ,the light a blinding flash,
braving it all, as if in a play, san rhyme or reason.
How all these contrary images, I wonder, clash
in your mind, indoors, locked in by winter's temper;
long nights, short days and enough time to kill?
No one has ever devised a way to pamper
alien scenes and homeland images and perhaps never will.
So we are poles apart. I in a confused land,
not sure what horrors tomorrow has in store,
coping with each day's dread beginning , bloodied end.
You in a land, I hope, filled with promise to the core.
M. Salimur Rahman
Editor: Savera Magazine