Hungry Stones - 8

(A poetic translation of a story by Rabindranath Tagore, kśhdhārto pāśhāņa, Hungry Stones, for convenience split in 13 parts) . It is set in blank verse with stanzas that rhymed in between. VIII A gulf separated my days and nights, A worn out and tired me going to work, Cursing last bewitching night's weird dream, Yet, all new nights came O pledging promise, Though shackles of work were farther from sham, The nightfall would catch me in eerie thrall, Overwhelming me in a total snare, Intoxicating and overpowering, When I would transform to an unknown knight Of a bygone era, playing my part In unknown history never ere writ, My English coat and tight breeches standing The least in my fertile mind's fairy role, In red velvet cap, pyjamas too loose, An embroidered tight vest, flowing silk gown, Many a shaded scented handkerchiefs, Musing o'er an elaborate toilet, I'd sit on a high-cushioned velvet chair, A hookah filled with rose water in place Of a usual cigarette, a proud face, In eager anticipation to meet, Who else? My first night's sorely missed nymphet, Black beast, my aversion and dark secret, But for that spoil-sport eunuch's blocking feet! _____________________________________________ Translations | 08.03.13 |