Stay well, ruin

 Through many afternoons I've passed,
 standing beneath the weight of terrible weariness,
 my heart entranced by the drunken scent of fallen flowers—
 if in my very drowsiness you are sought
 by groves of jasmine, night-flowering jasmine, or wild jasmine!
  
 Like the melancholy evening's scattered light,
 the dried wounds of flesh and blood in my chest—
 grow pale, though pride never understands,
 never knows by whose poison I'm dying, slowly consumed by what fire!
 So perhaps today I sing from afar,
 I love from afar—
 be well, my friend, be well.
  
 Kohl-black ink stains my life,
 pearl-light illuminates yours!
 Love—where is it? This I know: my lips touched by your nectar,
 your fire in my desire—is this too love?
 I've learned, yet love is still—
 from eyes to lips,
 how easily it brings spring down in winter's blanket—
 on nights of melancholy...when alone
 you come to mind!
 Do you know what melancholy's song is?
 That song dwells in the corner of the eye...seek it there!
  
 How lovely those days were,
 with tender, half-sweet smiles,
 a little wanting, a little getting,
 a little loving back and forth.
 Good love, bad love—
 in every dwelling, you remain,
 loving you, lost in you,
 I still live today.
  
 Sharat Babu, are you listening—
 that same Devdas, they say,
 in what intoxication he spreads both arms,
 lights fire in heroic wombs,
 has turned love to glowing ash!
 Do you hear, do you hear?
 What pain are you weaving in your chest?
  
 In Parvati's two eyes,
 new desires still write themselves daily
 The masses foam with carnal hunger,
 so in this age's pen—
 I have mixed
 sweet sexuality in chest and lips—how honeyed it is!
  
 Do you hear me, Sharat Babu,
 your Parvati is not impotent,
 she too seeks pleasure,
 she too turns her face away!
 Open verandas, open dwelling places,
 yet why do those wretched walls grow, sucking blood, kissing flesh?
 They only say, your Devdas is a ruined boy! Isn't that right?
 They don't know, but I know, why Devdas was ruined!