The Curfewed Valley

Bulbuls are numb
And wonder where humans have fled
Pigeons haunt the shrines
To search the hands that fed them
Dogs with long faces
Loll about on empty streets

The gardens too are distraught
And flowers reluctant to bloom
A pallor hangs on every branch
The gentle breeze draws back
Loathe to disturb the stillness
The eerie stillness
Of this graveyard.

—Nusrat Bazaz