The ache of being unable to touch

I haven't wanted to see you for so long now,
won't you soften your anger...a little? Sudden bad news is never good!

You didn't return, I didn't call either.
A melancholy tune drifted between us, and we simply became strangers to each other!

When heavy raindrops fell on my eyes and face, I'd think your heart's melody had begun to play!
Whenever it rained, you'd say, this heart yearns for you so much!

Does love awaken when it rains?
No, separation awakens; separation that doesn't resonate as music in your heart awakens.

When the moon rose in the sky, you'd write letters,
in your writing you'd keep baskets full of tenderness for me,
you'd draw back the heavy curtains at the window, bring home fistfuls of moonlight.

You'd say, moonlight's mark on your forehead, moonlight's glow on your lips,
moonlight's touch in your disheveled hair flying in the night breeze.
Only moonlight's silver separation would you leave in your embroidered handbag!

Does love awaken when the moon rises?
No, the separation of not being able to touch you awakens.

In the languid afternoon you'd read Keats; sitting beside you, you'd say, do you know what Keats said?
He said, poems never die.
And then you'd fall strangely silent, I'd gaze at you with both eyes full,
looking at you was far more joyful to me than poetry itself!

You'd say again, Keats is gone now, one day I won't be here either, nor will you;
but the world's song will never stop.
I'd think, only this thirst to see you would never be quenched in me!

I haven't seen you for so long now,
read me a little this time, suddenly I'm at the last page—that brings no joy!

One day we'll meet, I know.
At evening's end by the roadside, the flame tree branches faded;
that day you'll be a silent blue stone, and I...the shell of a blue man!