The flow of the last blood drop
- Mahfuz Nabeen
Rust on a small alpine
If you wait until!
In the last frozen bottom
Until the glass of water has dried
If you want to stay the way!
The spring has not come yet
Until twenty leaves sprout on new branches
If you have a little patience
Of a pen
Until the last breath
If the last letter
Let me finish writing
The walls are still that old color
If you come again to write;
All that weird alpana
If you stay at home until the paint falls off
If randomly artistic like a spider
Weave a net;
At least a few days at home in your mind
If you hold me
I’m not– on the grasshopper’s wings
I would get stuck;
In that spider’s web
You can suck this time
My bone marrow,
In the flow of the last blood point.
