by Tahsib Hasan
She had beckoned, in silence, profound;
She had sketched that mute portrait around.
Her silence was a frozen call,
Coldness enveloped it all.
Quietly she walked away,
Her footprints marked that pathway.
She’s returned, she has moved on,
In every act, she’s become gone.
I call her, call out once more,
I search, but she’s nowhere, as before.
Alone I sit, sketching a scene,
Every color’s there, except her unseen.