Those evenings, all those evenings...
In which I reminisced you with all my yearnings,
In which like a thirsty oyster my heart used to wander
For the advent of someone unknown.
Those evenings,
Don’t they have any meaning, don’t they augur something?
Those moments, all those moments of solitude
When I talked to my shadow.
In my sorrow, threw all the pleasures away
Which now are redundant of any happiness.
Those moments,
Don’t they say something?
Those moments, those heavy moments,
When I came to realise
That total surrender has no other path.
When I bent and my forehead touched the road,
Then, the old footsteps were transmuted into diamond anklets.
Those moments,
Are they nothing?
All those evenings, all those moments... all of them
Which froze upon my soul like mist
While they were coming into existence
Don’t they mean something?
Why someone tells me all the time
That there should be something,
That even the most dreadful pain if touch
Shall never come back in my whole life.
He who has devoted his soul like the flowers of worship
Some unknown sorrow would have polished him throughout.
And he would have accepted all the crude realities of the outer world
With his head down with gratitude.
All those things would have metamorphosed into hymns
All those evenings, moments, sorrows and gloom.
What is in them,
What is nugatory?
Nothing, absolutely nothing.....
