As the earth moves round the sun all day long
and at last goes for an assignation
holding the outstretched hand of the twilight,
and finds out that her heart is still beating;
as she is impatient over again
in the night to meet the dawn stealthily
before all the lives of the world wake up,
so we are passionate and impatient
all of the days and nights of our whole life
only to embrace the darkness in light
and the light in darkness in the desire
like gravity force of the universe.
If that desire is abruptly eclipsed,
all the hopes are covered with deep dark clouds,
we acquiesce in pangs of that eclipse
tucking our soul into the sludge of life
with patience of the busy pond-heron.
We’ll meet again at the end of darkness
that splits open out of the breast of dawn.
Then we’ll only talk in a long silence
when the Jamuna of our halting words
that are suspended so far in our life,
merely merges into the estuary;
and then all the currents of our feelings
will do build up a foam-covered ocean
where we can spend at least some of our time
swimming and diving, jumping and plunging
in watery happiness— we’ll divest
of airy, acrid touch and land-grown pain.
Like the earth, we still move about and wait.