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The song was blended in the air with an unknown smell. We were separated by tress of unknown shadow, 
of unknown darkness. That darkness was dancing in your attire, encircling those dashed lines that  made 
you believable, something real. You didn't know that darkness was nothing but the breathing of trees. We 
were lost in the dark, reptile shadows. I didn't want you to feel the song as the sound of my soul, which 
rustles in a river of anonymity, namelessness. I didn't want you to smell the song as the smell of my 
being, the smell that it found from the clothes hung in the sun on our backyard. My being had a color that 
I lent from the flood of snakes erupted in our home.  Each snake had a strange color that I never had seen 
before. My self was soaked by those colors, like the self of Kabir* who used to sing, color me by you. I 
wanted you to touch that color, to breath it. But you, lost in the trees, didn't even notice me. 
Although I can remember your eyes, gleaning in the dark
Like a long forgotten coin that I lost in the fair of Shindurmoti**.


*Indian spiritual folklore poet.
** A annual fair in a village of Bangladesh.

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