Lost Sky

Do you still think of me the way you used to?
Do those moments of that time ever return?
In the subconscious, in quiet corners, do those evenings peek through?
Don't you walk anymore in the hours of Debpahar?
Has that South Park afternoon finally ended, coming to today?
Does time framed in gold no longer peek through?
Holding hands, leaning your head on this shoulder, walking beside,
sitting close, your breath touching my eyes—that hill will bear witness.
The train of your words would rush wonderfully, trailing silk, meeting the wind.
Even the evening would get caught in the silken trap of your hair.
Love would gather in handfuls, picked up by two pairs of eyes.
In what language would your pupils dance, looking at me, touching me?
You would say, Look, that sky is watching us...
Let happiness descend into its heart. Sky-uncle is so good, isn't that right?
With what tenderness he holds us bound—who else gives such a touch of devotion?
All that we have, all of it—he has given us!
The mountain of debt keeps growing...
Someday, when I have time, I'll pay back all that's owed—how's that, tell me?
That day you stay beside me too, if it falls a little short, you make up the difference.
Is that really within my power—you tell me!
That day we'll sing together, touch the sky with melody's magic!
We'll fly in the wind, become friends with the birds in the trees.
If they became our neighbors, how would that be? Can you imagine?
Will the sky remain just like this that day?
When will that time come? This sky that is ours—will it still be there then?
 
I remember, fingers entwined, I would brush away the soft flood of your hair,
with gentle touches I would color that chin of yours, and then how you would
giggle and laugh?
Do you still laugh like that?
Do words still play on your lips the way they used to?
Does the fountain of your speech wet someone else's heart? Does the serene evening spread its silk?
We had promised—those stories of ours, no one else, we would take them.
Yet look, all the stories remain exactly as before, only we have changed. Now they belong to someone else!
Just the other day, with girlish eyes binding me in wonder and trust, you would listen then...
You silly thing! Does the sky ever get lost?
In one sky will remain mixed all the love of one lifetime.
Take your time! What's this rush of yours?
The sky is so vast!
Forget that sky's body, read its mind, and then you'll see—
the rough notebook of the sky-house, there everything is written, all these evenings of yours and mine.
The brush-strokes of the heart-painter paint pictures on its canvas, mixing fragments of dreams.
Listen, when will we become the sky?
 
That sky is still there, right there in that same place,
sunlight comes piercing the clouds, noon slips into evening, just as before,
everything is there, only you are not. You've disappeared somewhere, the way silver night disappears!
The day you moved away, when reaching out means groping in emptiness—in such moments
my sky was lost that day along with you.
If I don't remain beside you, why should the sky stay the same?
My sky is not well today, the sky weeps, makes me weep.
How is your sky? Does sky descend into your courtyard as before?
If you wish, can you still play with the sky in your palm?
In the rhythm of rain, we two would get drenched, life would get drenched, and the whole world...
Selling imagination and dreams, we'd live wonderfully—thinking this, I had lived.
Days would pass, nights would end, we'd float on a raft of happiness,
thinking all this, how good it felt then!
In the evenings, sky descends on Debpahar just as before,
the benches of South Park weave dreams, build homes,
pairs of weaver birds think they'll bind time, dressed in love they keep it safe.
In the musical wind, birds sing on, the rainbow moves the rain aside, just as before.
What was there is still there, as much as there was,
our paths became different paths, mine became mine, yours became yours,
in search of personal paths we walk each in our own way,
even the moment changed color and vowed to descend the path of resentment.
Suddenly I see,
the bridge broke, who knows why, one world broke in two,
my sky flies a kite alone today, reel and string in one hand only,
your sky belongs to someone else, in that sky my kite no longer flies,
carelessly today you've untied the bonds and shifted even trust to other hands. In sorrow I think,
our time has been lost.
When noon leans and sweet evening peeks through, alas,
that old evening-time awakens dreams, will return in warm flesh...
Dreams burn in the chambers of the eyes.
Hope's body rises on the pyre at the wrong hour.
What's the worth, tell me, of these two eyes, when I see—
the eyes remain, but sight flees away...