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.
Time moves on, yesterdays gone, theres nothing back there for me.
Then I hear a song and to the past I'm drawn.
The memories come rushing back vividly.
To the days when I was young, dreaming big dreams.
All those dreams went unsung like whispers in the breeze.
Like a lost love, all my friends have all become estranged.
Time rolls on, the past is gone, it's funny how people change.
I knew those days wouldn't last, but I miss them now and then.
Still all I need is the right song to take a stroll down them again.
When tree limbs rub like crickets leg
They sing the song that speaks your name
Again and again: Lorna
When the wind will turn the door
In and and in out like an accordion playing
I hear the song that speaks your name
Again and again: Lorna
When evening turns from memory
To sleep and pillow of a weary brain
The echo of a hollow heart is: Lorna.