The Half-Awake Soul Poem by Md Fazlul karim

If one evening you sit by the bank of Chitra,
When night slowly settles down,
and the loud world melts into a quiet hum of hidden songs—
it feels like a gentle illness, a deep, sweet ocean of calm.
Memories rise, asking silent questions
When the moon appears in the sky.
Then something soft falls from the dark heavens onto the green earth.
Like drops of dew—
Can anyone really stop them from falling? These things belong to the river—its banks, its winding turns.
But who stays awake there,
As if only to lift the veil?
In the coming deep night, a desire awakens—
To kiss those lips, quietly, alone.
Lips that, when touched, create silent rhythms,
Even in the heart of a timid soul.
Hands hold tight, like an octopus in embrace,
Two flowers lean together beneath the leaves,
A garland breaks apart for lack of thread.
This longing returns in an old form,
calling out like someone from the past.
The river keeps flowing by the same old shore,
While half-awakened beings sit and speak in fragments.
What can be said in this pale moonlight?
Is anyone truly there?
Like a free waterfall, something pours out,
Burning like wounded king's pride.
In answer to all questions, hesitation comes—
As if to console the thought that Chitra has dried up.
Should one say, 'Don't cry'?
Or simply ask, 'Why are you crying? '