In the dictionary there is no fallen

  One.
 Whatever words we share,
 I never keep my part—
 I always erase them.
 Only yours remain.
 However false I am to you,
 you are exactly that true to me!
  
 Yet, how strange—look!
 This 'you' that I hold,
 steadfast in its truth,
 is actually terribly false!
 This false 'I' you know
 is the only truth!
  
 Life—
 a tangled labyrinth
 of truth and lies,
 on this strange world's stage
 colorless games unfold.
  
 I don't know if you understand me at all!
 Trust? That's too confusing!
 Where does it live? Does it live at all?
 Let me abandon that calculation!
 Love?
 To you it's just child's play!
  
 If you ever see
 I can no longer be recognized,
 changed beyond measure,
 then know my prayer
 has been fully answered!
  
 You know, I deeply wish
 this feeling I've kept
 so carefully inside for you
 would bid me farewell,
 find shelter in that heart
 where your hours pass
 waiting for love's return.
  
 Two.
 I am terribly weary today
 of this hide-and-seek with myself.
 The deeper a heart goes into love,
 the more it knows love's worth—
 to neglect love, what a great sin!
  
 Now that I love you,
 I cry every day, soak my very self,
 knowing that one day in un-love too
 I will weep,
 my self
 will no longer recognize you as before,
 perhaps won't even love
 that self of mine anymore—
 that day
 I'll float in tears of anguish
 trying to recognize myself!
 Will I remain like this all my life?
  
 Yet I'll be well that day
 thinking this—
 my love lives safe
 in another heart!
 The heart whose love and feeling
 you desire,
 in that heart.
  
 Three.
 Rain... ah!
 When nature gets drenched,
 it feels so close,
 that scent of rainwater—so different,
 saltwater doesn't have it, does it?
 It has fragrance indeed, perhaps more than it should—
 take that fragrance not through your nose, but through your heart!
  
 My water
 won't touch you, I know.
 Give me a few drops of rainwater
 to touch
 the water I have touched on this side!
  
 Words spoken
 at the wrong time...
 how they torment!
  
 Four.
 On that shore—
 unwilling colors come
 always late!
 Replies are thus
 irrelevant!
  
 On this shore—
 innocent, unaware reasons
 still float in happiness,
 that joy's delight
 hesitates and moves
 a little further away
 constantly!
  
 Nature knows how to wash away
 all falsehoods!
 The lies in which I live and breathe
 are meaningless to nature!
  
 Five.
 Beyond some boundary
 where fragrance has no value,
 the infinite fears that very scent!
 Why frighten even one
 who has no scent at all?
  
 Brain, mind, body.
 Sometimes they become strange.
 Lost somewhere.
 The mind grows sad, stays silent.
 The body aches, loses feeling.
 Neither sorrow nor joy can find them,
 even when found, can't quite recognize them.
  
 Suddenly the mind thinks,
 this is good! I'm perfectly fine!
 Is that really so?
  
 Sorrow will bring pain!
 Joy will bring delight.
 These two powers together are this world's life force!
 If they're lost, how can the world survive?
  
 Six.
 I erase memories—
 not always in anger
 or hurt!
 When a mind living in the past
 turns to look at it,
 understands precisely—
 living in that emptiness,
 how beautiful a flying kite is,
 how can it grasp that?
 Where a cut kite feels no tug,
 looking back
 at the kite
 nothing can be recognized!
  
 Those eyes on the other side—
 why they came, from where,
 keep no track of that,
 how they exist then,
 they don't even say!
  
 All around I see
 so much laughter,
 if more essence comes
 of joy or sorrow,
 the breaths are greatly troubled!
  
 If the mind doesn't want them
 too much,
 they flee, disappear!
  
 Seven.
 Between rain and clothes
 there's perhaps no friendship at all.
 Soaking the rooftop cloth
 the rain pours freely,
 one cup of water
 waits for the stove's heat.
  
 Where existence lives
 only in echoes,
 for the mind's colors to survive there
 the outer light
 is very strange, deeply uncomfortable!
  
 When good wishes only dance
 on joker's faces,
 I can't touch the clouds then
 unless rain falls and sheds.
 When rain comes
 I touch it to see,
 though I know
 it didn't fall for me!
  
 Rain I still touch with my hand,
 you I touch only with my heart!
  
 Eight.
 Yes exactly, so very exactly—
 I want to be well,
 or try to be
 thinking in my own way.
  
 What I've said,
 what I say from time to time,
 the depth of its truth
 you know deeply, understand,
 I know. I understand too, know this!
  
 Yet see,
 what the mind thinks to itself!
 All that is apparently false!
 Truth is only
 what I think!
  
 Yet alas, clothes soaked in water,
 however much you think them dry
 and wrap around your body,
 the body will get wet!
  
 You know, life—
 the lies hidden in relationships' folds,
 I know where they are.
 Yet I forget...
 hoping lies might become true!
 That day, see,
 I won't recognize this self of mine anymore!
  
 Nine.
 Look,
 how alive, fresh the morning flower is...
 exactly like
 the hatred you show me daily!
  
 Don't hate me quite so much,
 it will be exhausted!
 You know, beloved,
 when I'm gone
 that hatred will remain,
 I'll stay with it too!
  
 Beloved, when hatred ends,
 how will I survive within you?
 Keep the hatred, not love, for that day!
  
 Ten.
 Now it's no longer morning,
 that passed so long ago!
 Tell me, if I wish now
 can you be wet
 in morning dew?
 In midnight's
 intoxicating melody
 I'll bind you—
 what way is there, tell me?
  
 I know,
 one by one everything will end,
 only I will remain alone!
  
 Eleven.
 If you return
 to that familiar first nest
 leaving your ring finger bare,
 however much quicksand
 you surrender to sorrow's moment,
 just know—
 I didn't want this in my heart then.
  
 I've forgotten all pain today,
 forgotten so well, so very well,
 you're no longer in my mind.
  
 I kept poison for you
 nurtured in my chest,
 with such deception, sweet words
 I would make you drink that poison—
 this was my intention.
  
 Alas, trying to make you drink that poison
 one day I became a stream of nectar!
 I still don't understand
 how you, blue one,
 with what magic touch
 turned it to ambrosia!
  
 Twelve.
 What's the use of fighting anymore?
 I've been silent, became so long ago!
 How much more silent should I be?
 I'm already distant—
 very, very distant!
 How much further should I go?
  
 I'm beyond feeling,
 right at the edge of the final boundary,
 yet tell me, why do you prove I'm wrong?
 The mistake I've already accepted—
 why bring up even that mistake?
  
 A speeding car
 still has a relationship
 with the still air—
 perhaps momentary,
 but it exists!
  
 I'm leaving,
 have to leave,
 will surely leave!
 (Visibly)
 Then why
 before I actually leave
 do you force me
 to leave
 like this?
 (Invisibly)
  
 What doesn't exist at all—
 how many ways
 can it become more 'non-existent'?
 Can you tell me?
  
 Thirteen.
 Sharat Babu has disappeared.
 Who shall I ask to write stories, tell me?
 The story of an ordinary, common girl
 in extraordinary style?
 A tale of an exploited woman—
 will the end be forgiveness or infinite valor?
  
 Whatever it may be...
 You didn't love me,
 yet write one story!
 Not with ink, but with a kohl's black mark,
 not with roses, but with a fallen shiuli flower.
  
 Or in your story keep
 some ruined Bengali woman
 who has fallen;
 the one who corrupted her
 never fell himself!
  
 You'll find me in that girl,
 or just keep me there.
 Still won't you write?
 Has your pen bent crooked then?
 Or are you that kind of man
 who corrupts but never falls himself?
  
 In life alone exists the fallen, not in dictionaries.