After so many days it comes to mind today—
that day the sky held Shravana's endless stream,
a patch of cloud had covered sky and horizon;
the heart was heavy—like the brooding sky.
Since then have passed many days, many nights.
That day I was someone else entirely—
from the sky's blue I had woven new dream-longings,
(where the sky stands an amazed sentinel)
calm-composed, like the silent evening.
The door of forgotten memory opens today—
suddenly in some corner of the mind, whose memory's hint;
at night's edge whose soft footfalls,
after so many days, unknowing, your arrival.
I have come to know, this coming of yours—it is not coming,
perhaps by mistake today to break a mistake
you have come this way to my window;
your presence when the lamp died
was completely extinguished.
That was many days ago; that day—
the blood-glow of palash had reddened
sky, wind and human hearts.
In farewell twilight our introduction, yours and mine
...in utter solitude. That memory of yours is spent today.
How many times by mistake you dealt wounds,
on your hurt lips whose sharp curse is drawn,
even that day I saw you in the rain-voiced night—
helpless by the roadside, you again;
that dim hint still clings today.
In some autumn night's tranquil depths
you alone, no one beside you;
if that day my memory returns—
at moonlit night's edge in the scent of citron flowers
your mind overflows. Through green leaves' gaps
in solitude, soundlessly, your sorrow will fall in tears like dew.
The night's hours will fill with unspoken pain;
like a companionless dove your heart
if ever on light wings it flies
toward my memory; I know,
that day your ache will be inevitable.
I will not let myself be caught in your memory then—
perhaps that will be my time to lose.