I remain
Where she left me
After she had finished reading.
No one leafed through the book of love
Time has coursed its way
Aeons have passed
But I remain entangled
In the inconclusive tale of love
Waiting for her to come back
And once again turn its pages
Get the story going again.
She was keen to progress in life
Desirous of
Glamour, fame, a bright career
How could she find time to read?
Accustomed to decorating shelves
With bric-a-brac and books
She knew
Nothing could be gained from old volumes
Except dried-up flower petals
Dead butterflies
Words, moth-eaten
Letters, hidden as mementoes
Names of some friends.
I remain
Where she left me
After she had finished reading
For I'm a memento too
A forgotten tale of past friendship
A symbol of memories, old and worn out
Sacred remorse of one-sided love
I remain
A peacock feather in a holy book
I do not have the luxury of tears.....!
(1988, Translated from the original Urdu by Satyapal Anand)
Great poem, I love the feeling of saddness I get from it, to feel left like that. In the pages of on old book, and that book left in an old dark room. That would but torturing. thank you. Love, Kat sorrow
I open a book and the butterflies never fly away. Lovely to read.(My husband was in civil engineering.He was a coded pipeline welder) Regards Sally P.S. IF you can spare a minute perhaps you might read Vow. Thanks
Sir, I liked the last stanza very much truth told in wonderful words sandhya
you are not a bookmark, you are the book, and a beautiful book, continue to write it, please....
Unique poem! Cleverly written with much imagination. Talented you are! Well done indeed; D
The pages are alive with cleverness for she will return to where she left the bookmark I can feel it for everyone one will live happily ever after+++++10 regards
Wow! What an offbeat subject is brought alive by word engineering! Really enjoyed by all hear and same ten Ms. Nivedita UK
wow sir..it is a wonderful poem...very expressive...I loved it..10+
A nice poem, gud imagery and usage of words simple yet deep meanings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The true poet must never be afraid to give himself away in words, No matter how poignant the experience might be. This is a beautiful poem. Love and remembrance, there is nothing more to say. Except...you have a wonderful translator. Warm regards, Sandra