Silent Symphony

Ten, ten years!

How much I have forgotten!
I have forgotten the proper season for 'anjolika' blossoms,
the color of ripe karmacha,
the sound of tide in the river,
the kite's silent accompaniment.

I have forgotten—what time of year water hyacinth covers the pond,
when hijol flowers float upon the water's skin.

So much I have forgotten!
I have not forgotten—
night thick and black as an African girl's hair,
sacred vows pure as the Virgin Mary's face.

How strange—
even the face of falsehood looks holy today!