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And when the sun sets, and darkness descends

We have to cross the river.

No pain, no sorrow, no dirge, no lamentation.


Why do you cry, my friend?

Let us be true to earth,

Let us be true to life.


Let us go to an alien land

And cultivate, and make rows of flower beds,

And drink honey, and sleep on the heavy boughs of stars.


Let us look at the humongous dark trees

And bath in the mellowed dew, in morn and evening too,

And lie on long untrammeled grass.


Let us scent the wild flowers

And hear the humming bees,

And see all day the spotted, streaked, speckled butterflies.


Let us make a bonfire

And pass the moaning night clasping hands together,

Beside a bare cottage amid a forest deep.

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Abu Siddik

Abu Siddik

It's all about the unsung , nameless men and women around us. I try to portray them through my tales. I praise their undying suffering and immaculate beauty. And their resilience to life's vicissitudes, oddities, and crudities I admire. They are my soulmates who inspire me to look beyond the visible, the known, the common facade of the educated and the intellectuals.

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Top Comments

Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
Santosh Bakaya
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Praise for my writing

“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
Louis Kasatkin
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."

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