The Summer Air

Thou art lost in darkness, and I do not find thee, Between thee and me today is the difference of seven seas Today is thy birthday On the sea-shore of Memory sleepless grope for the endless darkness That envelops thee, It is here that thou art lost whom I found as a garland lying unclaimed on the path, Empty was the cool, black water of the bottomless lake, Why didst thou blossom there like a lotus of pain? Thou didst radiate the face of the dark lake, Agitate the breast of the unruffled wave, Who is the worshipper that tore off? What stony floor of what deity is now covered with thy petals? The boat laden with the lost treasure Of the sunset ferry cometh every morn to return it to the hamlet of sunrise I stay on the place, Where's my treasure, Oh? The waves of the river mercilessly strike on my breast, Amid the rowd, I look for thy ever known lotus like feet. Again bloweth the summer breeze and my mind is in tumult, Such air once wafted thee to me Again the black bride of the bees Sucks the Mahua-honey and gets intoxicated and the whole forest of Mahua-trees seems to dance in ecstasy. The south wind enamoured of flowers sends a thrill through the entire woodland. I remember Tagar, Chapa, Bel, Chameli, Jui, Flowers whose branches willingly yielded to the honey-making Bee And thou dist smile while bending the branch, And blush as red as the rose The land-lily felt proud of a touch of thy warm cheeks, The Bakul branch became anxious and the earth underfeed seemed to tremble The Nightingale sang the Gaze of Mid-summer night, At mid-day was heard the wail of the pigeon The dew-drops lovely as stars Falling from the cluster of Sajney flowers Seemed to scatter lumps of paddy over swinging braided locks. In the hot air was heard the lone voice of the king-fisher. Beneath the peyal tree, a full cup of honey collected from the Palash flowers, The wild Santal girl drank while clinging to the neck of her lover From behind the scene thou didst see it, And say, 'I like it' In thy braided heir I did then put a Champa flower and on thy lip, honey And from the branch of a Hizal tree came the call of a bird; '0 my bride! Speak out! ' The gallinule shouted and the water-pigeon danced in the marshy land full of water, In the sky the sea-gull looking like two joint eyebrows, Suddenly to put feet in the water, The lake of dark-blue water trembled And the lotus opened her eyes The vast dark-blue lake seemed to touch thy large eyes The languid noon was long past, now afternoon too is over, Sleep renders sluggish the feet of the Ghumti river wearing a string of small bells The conch is blown in the temple, Evening descends on the forest, O, who hath pasted wet darkness on the branches of the Jhaw tree? The lyre of the meadow singeth a fascinating melancholy note The blossoms themselves become wild, where are we? Dost thou put mango-blossom in thy braided look? Or dost thou, Dear, wash thy face again with the cool water of green coconut? Or dost thou join the separated eyebrows with the golden fragment of the butterfly's wings to make them radiantly beautiful. . In place of blossoms there appear today mangoes in many a cluster,. Rose-berries bursting with rich juice fall down, Kamranga fruits take a red hue for a stout sweet bite of thine Remembering thy cheeks, the gratefulness of thy breast Zamrul fruits full of juice to the brim cry 'alas' who will appreciate them From thy eyes I collected looks, Intending to weave a garland - but now I miss the thread. Those looks in the shape of blue lotuses Fill today the lake of my heart, The lotus thorn cuts me to the quick, And my breast is be-decked with the Sat-nari garland made of tears I am groping in darkness for the harbour Where lies my bark, From across the sea of memory cometh fragrance from the orange blossoms In the Shal woods on the outskirts of the hill Poison-like blue color deepens, There appears at dusk the moon looking like Yahudi earring. Alas! I roam benighted now in another village Where art thou? Where am I? We met last in Chaitra last, The same month again goes way wailing for thee - Where art thou? In my throat one voice and ane alone goes wailing Where dost thou build thy hut? Dost thou as before keep wakeful night in expectation of me? I seek for the lost thread where I first found it, At the ferry, Dear, I do moor my boat, Perchance in this boat thou wilt place thy rosy feet, Again thy happy, magic touch Will give the boat a trilling start, The self-same boat will carry both to-a-village never-to-be-lost, At the ferry,Dear, I do keep my boat. [Translation: Abdul Hakim]