Window

The window that used to rattle and patter , the doors
that opened in my courtyard,
both of them used to get
separated.
Be separated from each other,
look like you have turned your face, this process of meeting and separation
continues forever.

Being parted together
was nothing less , that resonant sound between
separation to meeting and
from meeting to separation, which gave a sense of tremor on the beat of the tabla.

It seems as if someone dancing is giving the impression
of mixing the voice with the voice , forcibly someone knocks on the door of the heart and says that give me a corner in your heart too.

But this voice disturbs my sleep,
“Yesterday” which had passed
and “Tomorrow” which was about to come , refreshes
some sour sweet memories and goes again