Dabbling in fading dreams, the graying desires dim
Dew mourning the death of cascading melancholy
But gather. O weary whisper, thy hazel eyes dream
Unbearable lightness; trade the myth of solitary folly?
Rise, O death pale ecstasy, thy manacles throw
Drape not in dark shroud ere courage – old
As the world’s bosom – blossoms and grow
Enwrought with mirth in the field of gold.
Hush not, my love, thy whimpering sacred breath
Tread if you may far from the refuge of quiet
Souls falling into eternity but wears the wreath
Of grandeur, not the weeping gloom of the night.
[Dhaka, December 24, 2015]