Two poems by Masuda Khan

rolling drop of sweat

rolling drop of sweat

slowly slowly drops.

From the bottom of your breast

aiming straight it falls

On your thigh it tries to rest—but ah

—it's a sticky plummet.

 

The Padma

These waters caressed

a thousand dead bodies.


Young and old men,

mothers, their children.

 

The water listened,

it heard their

submerged little howls,

 

Slowly

growing drunk

of their brittle

little-souls.