For the Golden Sun
by Shahinur Islam
The night is pregnant with darkness
just to smell the fragrance of light.
One day she embraced the sun’s breast
and was happy for that moment.
She was not her when her body
trembled and was hot in petals
of heart— when the sun went away
to the summer solstice
in the stillness of the late afternoon
and in the bashful solitude,
far away from the multitude
she kissed his eyelids at the bend
of the farthest horizon.
Now she is tired of carrying
the embryo of that pleasure;
so the moments of waiting play
as constant ding-dongs in her breast,
in her visage and in her eyes
in the wrapper of the new pains.
Yet in the beckoning of light
beyond this agony again
her heart just becomes pacified.
In the coming dawn she will bear
the new golden sun from her womb
during this burning season.