Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.
Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.
As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn
Translated by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam
Leave a flower from your bun when you depart, my love.
In my deep sleep, you came, my love—
We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death
What’s life if a sense of darkness/ doesn’t connect night to sunlight
Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.
Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.
Dream is a mystery sometimes unfolded amidst creeping eeriness unstipulated to the seemingly compos mentis. As long as my stint in your thought bears a meaning for life because I wish to worship the sanctity of your feeling for me and tree,
Now I wonder the world is a painting, an imaginary chamber where captives sing, like a caged dove obeying a hunter enticing free birds to live in bliss. And then I see darkness of dusk fade away as the sun begins to peek in the east.
