If you bid an early adieu
A black cloud covers the sunny view
A white snow freezes the mobile carp
Sorrow gathers on the eyes’ plateau.
If you become my saree’s colour
I can let loose the wild anchal
If you become my home’s dear
I can fade away in your core
Please don’t go
Whirling a wild sorrow
I pray hard
for love for you
Every day of every year
I put holy rites on my palms
Keep begging for permanence
in Maghrib prayer
The sun goes down—the last day of the year
The black night signals the next, the new
I keep moaning, ‘Don’t go, don’t go…’
Hold me, cold me in your dusky hue.
Umme Salma, 2016, Toowong
Salma Seclusion 