“Spring Every time, in the same way, the world molds flower buds of yellow mustard from a lump of gold, and the breeze holds them in its undulations. Every time, in the same way, branches laden with sprouting leaves, hug the interweaving pathways. What do they think? Who knows. Every time, in the same way, raindrops filtering through clouds brimming with colour come to rattle against the copper sheet that spreads into the distance. Every year, a season, just like this, every time, this scent of absence, every morning, these harsh tears. When will the times of mourning come? Majeed Amjad” PoetryUrdu PoetryUrdu Author:Majeed Amjad