Marred, as I stood frozen beside
A rusting machinery, and there
A menagerie of shadows passed by, with baffling saunters
In between heavy breaths and trepidation
I gazed at the moon, and its silver veneer
How immense it was, and so is this night –
And every night will be, in a sleepy hollow
For you are not here, and you will never arrive
To lay a vestige to grasp with my calloused hands
From a fray, an ocean of memories – I drown,
-
I could write as if to say that this night will be better
Than ruby, topaz, emeralds and tethered dreams
But there is no sense, a sagacity that has been quelled
A long time ago, a second in that long time –
Oh the turning of the arms of the clock seems so long,
And I am here, at the edge of my bed, with folded hands
And lips assuming prayers – waiting for you, to open
The wooden door, and turn the deadpanned knob
And entwine, and meld with the moon, and eschew the Sun
But all this will not materialize, I know this
And so I write, this night will not be better,
-
I took a look at the mirror, with pallid borders
And said with a sigh, athwart from the hanged portraits
Of anonymity, “Is there hope in this? ”
As long as I breathe, I will believe adroitly,
Stalwart, facing the mirror with embellishing vim
But mine eyes are dead and subtly glinting a spark
That is aglow upon the stars, but faint on my soul
I cursed the walls, I vandalized fate for this gambit
Is not worth the risk, I wager everything and have lost,
I will never regain my verve, for it has been stolen
Far away into a land where locks and keys do not match
A bastion she was, a bastion she will be
Enraptured she was, embittered I will be
Spare my beleaguered body, frail and neglected
But still the only hope that remains is that,
I will never be enamored again, same with lilac
Underneath the vast tangerine skies
I wept, bereft by a dead corner underneath a tree
That sprawls and cradles me like a mother – I am a chagrined callow being
My muse will live, emblazoned on my heart –
When one door closes, one wise man once told me –
That another opens; As apologetic as I am,
I said unyieldingly, with hands clasped tight as if
Holding your hands once more and never
To slacken, “I refuse to take the door, ”
And so he left, giving up hope on me,
Just like all the others. If this desolation
Shall infinitely take me, what impeccable timing!
I am willing, I am subservient – acquiescence is my friend,
I do not care how long – life be hasty, take me away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem