Seize all the lights of heaven and earth.
Pack the moon, dismantle the sun
My beloved is in her grave,
The grave is too dark.
Oh! The flowers of the nature come weep, weep.
Oh! The birds that perch on the trees sing the mourning song.
Tides of the sea step back,
Fires of hell, extinguish.
My beloved is in her grave, asleep, at rest.
Tears trickle down the leaves,
Tears are now the dew drops.
Tears now feed the sea,
Tears are now the falling stars.
Tears now quench the thirst,
Tears are now the reason of drought.
I will rush to the valleys of the mountains and weep there till they lament.
I will rush to the white fluffy snows of the Himalayas,
That resemble my beloved’s gown,
And weep there till the snows melt to lament.
I will rush to the woods of Africa and ask the trees to shed, to lament.
I will rush to all the seas of the world and weep, weep till the tears become one with the sea.
Face, though pale and seemed to be agitated,
Brows relaxed and lids half down and through the gap between the lid and the puffed eye,
I could peep deep into the core of your heart
And feel unto myself the pain of having slept before the darkness approached.
And where once used to be a rose garden
Now lays your isolated tomb.
Only sign of life there is; the mumbling
And the rattling of the leaves
Or the chirping of the birds which has gone hoarse,
Trying to wake you up for years.
So now when you are lying pale and calm
Beneath that prostate tomb,
I wonder if the fragrance of my roses reaches you
And start your day afresh.
I wonder if it is the smell of my morning coffee that wakes you up,
When it’s morning outside your tomb.
I wonder if it’s the cuckoo’s melody
Which brings you the morning alarm?
I wonder…just wonder.
Those wrinkled rose petals, their faded color,
Their lost fragrance and that sticky kiss on the cheeks are all what I have outside your grave.
A Pair of naked slippers lies next to your grave,
So still….as if you will wake up, step into it and walk back home.