Yesternight , my sleep driven off and the thread of my fancies slit, I espied an eagle in the wild shadows of my mind: On its beak , in the same old fashion , smouldered the blood of the dove Whose feathers were shed by hilltops into the atmosphere. Turning my head on the pillow, I sighted a deep , dark , chasm And rose and leaned my back against the wall , with the cool of the winter in the marrow of my breast .
My lips froze dry as whisperings reached me from outside the window . The snowflakes were sailing into the shelter of the crevices . Not a mouse did creep from under the box to the store - ca net . In place of my upper garment a cat hung by the hanger . Rubbing my eyes , I tried to pull the quilt up to my cold back , But O , the kangri shook and the cold , hapless ashes kissed my feet While the owl hooted outside .' O, woe, to you, O woe! ' Fain would I have raised a cry of lament , had my heart stood by me .
Suddenly I called to my mind my darling son How raptly did he listen to my bed - time tale last night : When I told him of the agony of the oyster in her travails!
But he only heard part of the tale when sleep overtook him . I rose like a moonstruck man and turned on the light And found him lying by the wall like a mushroom on the mount , In deep slumber, with fragrant blossoms blooming on his lips , And a drop of sweat , dawned afresh , playing on his brow . Perchance he was dreaming the rest of the tale ! Perchance the oyster had laboured forth a pearl!
Copyright (c) 2020 http://bilalsirenglish All Right Reseved
0 Comments