The Shroud of Spring
Spring finds Kabul Almond trees tender in their bloom Shy white buds lean against the tempering sunlight Dawn wakes with calls of the muezzin. It is a dark dawn, this spring. The prayers chant in deep throes of anguish and despair. Like black velvet, casting a shroud Over unwilling women, by unyielding men. Shackled into homes, Cows in the cowshed. Relentless quagmire of hollow routines Battles fought yet now exhausted -of possibilities, of dreams and of hope.