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“To the ocean in thy soul, the world is a tiny well. Joy has waned in the dying of sun, for your mouth has uttered, one last time. The world seems a desert now, And every thrush has lost its song. All that remains are echoes over sands, And the night weeps for its gem of pearl. O Beloved, you, the candle in the silent dark, Your eyes have closed, and light has gone, And all that remains are my sighs and verses. The earth, once full of scented blossoms, Is now only a desert. All I see, an oasis of memories. This heart of mine, once drunk of love, now only drinks of memories. Thy scent of soul, in my heart, sleeps, There it is, a flower of those years.” — Jayita Bhattacharjee
To the ocean in thy soul, the world is a tiny well.
Joy has waned in the dying of sun,
for your mouth has uttered, one last time.
The world seems a desert now,
And every thrush has lost its song.
All that remains are echoes over sands,
And the night weeps for its gem of pearl.
O Beloved, you, the candle in the silent dark,
Your eyes have closed, and light has gone,
And all that remains are my sighs and verses.
The earth, once full of scented blossoms,
Is now only a desert.
All I see, an oasis of memories.
This heart of mine, once drunk of love,
now only drinks of memories.
Thy scent of soul, in my heart, sleeps,
There it is, a flower of those years.