Tonight, when my notes are so discordant,

And the much abhorred tears flow,

As if the floodgates are wide open,

I can hear the sighs of Petrarch’s lover.

 

With my love story still etched in my mind,

I think of the agonized moments,

The entombed dreams, as sad as

The solitary bell of death,

I remain enclosed in the deep strata

Of my emotional nature.

 

I listen to the clear tones of the whirlwind,

Neither harsh, nor rude

And the tinkling laughter of lovers,

Like the tinkle of bangles,

I say to myself,

‘Alas! The night is too short.’

 

A secret and surreptitious glance

With a pacifying message

Could have gone down

The vortex of my grief

To create a smile.

I never looked for words of love,

To pop up like daisies.

I simply needed a touch,

The way Majnoon touched Laila,

Absolutely shaking the world—

As sweet as mono-floral honey

Produced by bees from flowers

Of the Manuka tree.

 

Pramila Khadun