17. Swansong

শেষের কবিতা

work in progress

Do you hear the wheels of time rumble
It’s chariot disappearing in a flash
It arouses a vibration of heartbeats in the vast ether
Heartbroken sobs of stars glisten in trampled darkness

My friend
That fleeting time
Embraces me, weaving it’s web
Lifts me to that speeding chariot
En route the dare-devil journey
Far, far away from you

I feel, a thousand deaths
I have faced to come here
At the summit of this new dawn –
The chariot’s restless pace
Sets free my name of yore - aflutter in the breeze

I have no means of turning back
If you see me from afar
You will not recognise me
My friend, fare well.

Some day, in respite from work
In the fullness of leisure amidst a soft spring breeze
On a night when deep sighs float forth from shores of the past
Wails of withered Bakul flowers pierce the skies
In that moment search and see
A part of me is left behind in the margins of your life.
In the oblivion of dusk, it may hold some light
It may, in nameless dreams, take form.

Yet a dream it is not
My truth above all it is,
Death-defying
It is my love.
That I have left behind
Unchanging homage in your name
I float on with the flow of change
With the journey of time
My friend, fare well.

A loss it is not for you
Merely mortal my clay
If you have created with it an idol immortal
Let it be worshipped at eventide
That game of devotion will not be hindered
Tarnished not by my daily touch
Not one flower detached from the salver of floral offering

The festive spread of your mind that you garnish with care
With the sweet juice of emotion to quench the desire of expression
I will not adulterate it with my riches that are mere dust
With that, which is moist with my tears

Even today you may design your creation
With words woven in dreams of just my memory
Weighed not down nor moored to obligation
My friend, fare well.

Grieve not for me
I have my work
I have this whole wide world
My vessel, empty it is not
I will make whole each void
This vow I take forevermore.

If there be one who is
For me anxiously awaiting
That very one will fulfill me
The one who brings a tuberose stalk
In time of the waxing moon
To decorate the salver of sacrifice
In the night of waning moon
Who sees me as I am
Virtues and vices all
With boundless forgiveness
In worship of the one
Now I wish to give up myself.

What I have given you
Your right to that remains endless
An iota it is
That I give here and now
Pitiable moments
That sip in mere fistfuls
From this heart of mine
It’s hands folded in prayer

What I have given you
Was your own gift to me
The more you accepted
The more indebted you made me
My friend, fare well

- Bonya