Rayhan Rhyne Biography

'What remains in the folded sleeves of the winter-sky
What exists in the ceaseless gibberish of the evening-madness
Whose empathy advances from earth towards the bunches of green leaves
What keeps growing in the scribbling of a fade, rough notebook... ”
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Once Yama asked a grave-digger, for whom have you dug grave today?
The grave-digger smiles, you know-
nobody has died in our city.
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When we forget the name of a 'ghat' left behind;

When a known face cannot be recalled at any attempts;
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'Some deaths slipping away from murderous shape
beholds our conscience;
makes the night profound;
then the calm soul sleeping
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I saw an unknown musketeer in my dream;
a pair of eyes of stone followed me
from somewhere very close, nearby.
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