The Swallow's Song

This is a rose we pluck for our readers from Niqula Kurban's "Basket of Poetry"—his new collection in its novel and original dress

Tomorrow, tomorrow we shall depart, when winter draws on
and the field is clothed in snows and the winds wail
and a storm takes refuge under our roof, and coughs

Would that we had an old cupboard that never locks,
and a straw mat of our own, a sleeping place, and a kettle
in a far-off village trailing its robes among the rocks,
and a tender grandmother to tell us what we do not know

And would that we had an arbor, and a window never moved,
holding beautiful hopes and memories more beautiful still,
that we might carry love to it, warm, and carry
into our nest the whispered confidences of the hills, which pass the night asking after us

And we would follow the shepherd, and coo for him in the valley;
our bell, in the niche of the mill, a lop-eared rooster,
and our light the cloak of the horizon, catching fire