No moon, no pristine moonlight all around,
only deep darkness, the rustle of bamboo groves
and the wild cry of the crested serpent eagle!
Don't misunderstand me, Nikhilesh.
Even if you came with half of yourself and sat beside me at such a time,
my solitude would not let me belong to you.
The day you surrendered me to the hands of solitude,
from that day this solitude has never left me alone again.
At this very moment the wind blows, touching the pipal tree,
in its sharp fragrance your scent mingles to create a new perfume.
The moment it reaches my nose
my solitude and I drift into our past,
where you bury your face in my chin, my hair, my breast,
where I treasure the satisfaction of your touch.
Nikhilesh, don't misunderstand!
I am still satisfied by that old satisfaction,
in today's you there is no familiar fragrance,
as if here a serpent has shed its skin and fled.
Did you flee? Or were you lost?
Looking at you, it seemed
that humans still dwell in this world like gods!
Indeed that's what happened, see—
being yours, I am today wounded by you...bloodied...slain!
Even without being here, you remain completely, see,
yet you are nowhere anymore!
You too, like God, gave me a refuge...solitude!
You know, this pond water, the whisper of dry leaves—
they rebel on my behalf these days,
to lose you in this deep darkness.
To merge what little you are without being,
like fireflies that glow and fade inside a weaver bird's nest, giving light,
perhaps in this way—in this world
there is no such thing as pure solitude.