The sudden thought of your face is like a wound when it comes unsought On some scent of jasmin, lilies, or pale tuberose, Any one of the sweet fragrant flowers, Flowers I used to love and lay in your hair. Sunset is terribly sad. I saw you stand tall against the red and the gold like a slender palm; The light wind stirred your hair as you waved your hand, Waved farewell, as ever, serene and calm, to me, the passionwearied and tost and torn, Riding down the road in the gathering grey. Since that day the sunset red is empty, the gold forlorn. (Lines from "Reminiscence of Mahomed Akram")
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