Naked, Lonely Hand: A meek translation of my all time favourite Bangla poem

Darkness deepens in the skies again

This darkness – she’s like the misty sister of light

who has loved me forever

and yet whose face I have never seen

like that woman,

darkness gathers dense in love on the springtime falgun night

seems like a lost city

a palace of the city, lost in dust, awakes in heart.

By the shores of the Indian Ocean

Or maybe by those of the Mediterranean Sea

or else by the Tyre Sea

It was there, this city, one day it was

today it isn’t. There was a palace

decked in rare furniture and pomp –

gardens of Persia, Shawls from Kashmir, flawless pearls and coral plucked from the waves of Berin,

my heart – extinct;

my eyes – dead;

my faded dreams and wants –

and you, woman –

all these were in that world that one day

there was orange sunshine,

there were many macaws and pigeons,

there were many leaves in deep shades of mahogany

and there was much orange sunshine

much orange sunshine

and you were there;

it’s been so long, so many centuries have passed by –

that I haven’t seen your face

that I haven’t looked for your face

Springtime darkness brings these tales from across those sea-shores,

Lines of pain drawn of splendid pillars and domes,

smells of lost pears,

gray manuscripts made of skins of countless dears and lions

rainbow-coloured glass-windows,

endless waves of curtains made of peacock-plume colours

from room to room

from orbit to orbit

to rooms far and further away

across orbits far and further away

glimpse of aura –

Ageless silence – stunned –

ageless amazement.

sweat jumps from blood-coloured sunshine on curtains, on gardens

wine made from watermelon in red glasses!

your naked, lonely hand;

your naked, lonely hand.

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