Pramila Khadun writes

My beautiful childhood heart

My childhood heart grew only in size

With a plethora of poetic thoughts.

In nature, it remained delicate

Like gossamer wings of the butterfly.

The river behind my hut knows it,

So does the sore-footed camels in the desert,

The mysterious desert which keeps

Enfolding truth in a million hues different.

My heart knows but layers of love,

Turning my pen to a brush sometimes

And my brush to a pen at other times.

The rays of the sun, unfiltered,

Warms it early morning when the

Scholars erudite write about life

And the various riddles of existence,

With precision flickering and clarity luminous.

With freshened elan, it drowns itself

Everyday in the ocean of compassion

Where soul-raising sights come to the surface

Setting my imagination ablaze

With the thoughts that have been

Gestating in my mind for a long time indeed.

My heart has never been geared to success,

Name or fame, riches or luxuries.

It  lives in the present, in the moment

More precisely, never surrendering to

The foul or foolish, evil or devil.

Keep beating my beautiful childhood heart,

Beat gracefully in spirits high

And purity artistic.

Caravan of Camels -- Yahya ibn Mahmud al-Wasiti