Afghan Rubab by Palash Mahmud

Even now my fingers feel the touch

of sponge; as if my father's body were

mutated into an aquatic invertebrate

before his last breath.

 

Since then I have been regretting me

for escaping the route my father coming

after smoking a cigarette.

 

If there were a second coming

of the shadow without his body,

not in a dream but in real time.

I wouldn't repeat that, I promise.

 

I missed the moments I stood on

his shadow & listened Afghan rubab

in the saffron rays of early spring.

About the Poet:

Palash Mahmud is a bilingual writer, book critic based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. His poetry, literary reviews and criticisms appeared in Cordite Poetry Review, Active Muse,  League of Poets, Superstition Review, The Punch Magazine, Kitaab, Ephemeral Elegies, The Bosphorus Review of Books, Poetry Potion Trouvaille Review, Poet’s Choice and forthcoming elsewhere. He reads & reviews for Sepia Quarterly.

He writes on his personal blog PM Review. You can also find him palash.mahmud.10 on Facebook & @palashmahmud10 on Twitter. You can email him at palashmahmud0@gmail.com