At midnight in the bakery at the corner While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked I remember the Rahman of my childhood And Asmat's sparkling eyes Playing carom with me At midnight in the bakery at the corner While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked I am boozing alone in my room In front of me fried liver pieces gone cold in a plate All my friends migrated to the Gulf At midnight in the bakery at the corner While bread and butter-biscuits are being baked The wife of the Pathan next door enters my room Closes the door and turns her back to me I tell her, sister, go find someone else When the bread develops its sponge, the smell Of the entire building fills my nostrils.