Musical YOU
-Sajan
When the skylark stops singing
The wind will not play the lyre
And Wordsworth’s daffodil dances not.
The journeys of the restless pen of a poet end, and die;
And the lie is the only truth man will speak by.
Coming to an end of the Phochu-Mochu love story:
The legendary Singye remain the portrait of mystery.
No perfumes shall the nature effuse
Nor a rose remains for poets’ muse-
The ugly tentacles of thorn shall rein the lawn
And the mocking dusk, like death, conquers the beauty of
dawn.
Flowerless spring will be the father of jealousy;
Keats’ colorful autumn jeers at my ecstasy-
Buying the bygone days, moment you come back to me:
All the birds, wind and poets pleasantries rest on their
niche.
All day, every day, windows play the dissonance of nature
going away
Still, the torn piece of the leaves of a banana murmurs
“Nay”-
The tireless call of a cascade
And the unending songs of a cuckoo;
The silent move of a night
And the wind coming off the Punatshangchhu hears and over
heard;
The silent, sincere cry of our departure-
Your loftiest move like the starry night;
Dissolve the pains of sunken dusk.
Like the images on a broken mirror;
Thousand clear moon moves deep inside your cloudy eyes
Like in the nobles’ portrait
Your immortal smile wails in the abyss of my love.
You, the lady of love;
Completes the paragon of beauty and the grace-
I shall hold with greatest sympathy, but where? -A heart?
No! You don’t deserve such empty-broken hut.
I write a word of you for some heart
It inhales the familiar perfumes of you.
“The lady of love”
You and I, shall grow and die, in the same nest
Inseparable, even mocking deaths come.
Not only I
Nightly silence, skylark, daffodils await you.
Like the scattered sunken dusk to see the dawn
Every night, I lie with hope to wake to see you.
