The sorrow fixed the day,
we met beneath sal and Palash
In the winding lane to the hilltop.
I smiled like a king-hi babe, where is
the way to the top, top of the world!
I swam across the lake of her blue eyes-
I climbed the darkest path under the
age-old mossy boughs of pine,
And the grief fixed the day as the stars
peeked trough the slits of the clouds.
I heard as the hours struck- the waves
black with the sadness leaped to kiss the dream,
Death is a way of parting or parting of the ways.
we had a tryst on the distant hilltop to
find out the meaning of it all-why a painting still hangs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem