I can only be sad when you are not,
I can only miss you when you are not,
My heart can simply grunt in long deep sighs --
When you are not here.
In those university days when I used to melt in nature
For long hours, and your worries are prominent on your forehead:
Apprehending that I got in unknown troubles;
Apprehending my whims of uncertain nature,
You waited for my return.
I still kept that memory fresh --
Your beautiful brown eyes, flash of that undiminishing glow of smile,
That innocent care, that unpretentious services
That you rendered in my mealtime;
When I was there in "Ramu Rubber Garden"--
That is still fresh like patel
That is still sticking to the rose.
What should I call you then? -- my 'rose',
That glows in the first light of slenting sunrays:
You are ever glowing like that sunrise;
You are more than a glow --
You are the round ball, the source of that glow.
I learnt to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise and sunset,
Over the melting profusion of colours,
Over the crests of the dicudious trees,
Over the valleys of crimson shades--
Because you were that "round ball";
You were the source of life and light in those days.
On your death, I blow bcak and forth like
A restless gale of wind.
You are, to me, a world of recognitions from the
Transition of the childhood simplicity into aestehtic eternity.
You are to me, a pure piece of art, an unending tune
Stretched on the unending timeline.
I miss you now as you are not;
I miss you because I love you --
Love that graces mankind in beautifully molten sadness.