Let us, my dear, part, in this hour of tumult,
And curse the hearts of ours – sore and scornful
That they wed in improbability.
Let them vow to walk parallel paths with dread
Lest they unite to mourn the love, its vanity.
Little would our gruelling labours wear shadow,
For they shy the glimpse of our embrace,
On our secret howls let them rather rest
And bathe in the unfathomable void of oblivion
Oh dear, what mesmeric, incredible is this test!
Let our wasted breaths rest in the tiding fragrance
Of your cascading locks, as twilight flutters its dark wings,
Brimmed and wrinkled with our mutual lust
Our breaths be the testimony how well we fared on the earth
How in improbability we placed our trust.
I bring you this rhyme, as the dawn bell tolls
This ancient soul of mine, weary of your love, O dear,
Would no more seek refuge in your sight.
Shut your door in its face and bid it adieu
Let this arcane grief be its companion, its might.
So, what mortal bosoms still hold the haughty whimpers?
My abyss desires that blossom a rose deep down my dark,
And my void trances that my casket drape,
Now freed from the bodily manacles, plead you, “Forsake not”
As dust settles on my grave and the mourners’ footsteps fade.
[Dhaka, February 14, 2016]