Smoky dusk falls like a fear
Over stone and human heart.
How, and with what, shall one create art?
Flames, death, then ash consumes the fire.

Blood of the doomed stains our sleep,
Like a question hangs pen over paper,
Fumbling fingers miss flesh they look for,
My love is vapour, but I don't weep.
Dawn stirs like a mouse; whose knock is it on the door?

From Kaiser Huq's first book of poems, Starting Lines.