Poem By Rahman Henry
That was the evening of an uncertain spring.
And in all sense, It was raining there,
We should not disagree this truth,
But now you deny that to be raining.
You deny that was an evening, a place
And our presence too.
I'm to agree with you, always, as you loved me.
That I'm not a person, the place was merely a place.
There was no evening, no spring, no rain.
There was me, alone; and a space: empty.
There was no 'you', no 'me',
Only the place: barren.
But a time can never refuse that it was raining there
And we both are burnt in that rain for the last time.
And that was the place we loved one another
For the last time!