.gif){kind=spacer}
This Little Wealth
after Ghalib
by William Dennis
Lord, let this flow not go dry, leaving me sober alone!
Brazen day has swung open upon the bright heap of stars,
An extravagant dower, such as an idol might keep.
Though she speaks the rhyme of birds, though I translate not one vowel,
This little wealth is enough, that the seraph's face breathes close.
How grief darkens the night. How affliction alights on my rib.
How long the stars turn away from the place where I lie.
Refugee status attained was the goal of misfortune;
Now tapped channels of confidence are evidence against me.
