“Gaste Wasayea Lal-è Chum Duray
Mea Chue Muray Lalwun Nar” -RUSUL MIR
The fire-smouldering inside me from the last four
Thermal summers and five inclement winters,
More inflammatory and much more ruthless
From the last two sweet days and two cruel nights;
Is scorching the marrow from my bones.
Now, I’m looking for music: sublime,
To scruple at least in oral symphony.
From that moment onwards, I’m half in heaven,
Rest is crotcheting by the harpoons;
Knives and blades of spent recollections.
O Helmer of Olympus-argosy!
Music my mouth today and let my hands rest,
For toil spoils the melody of the heart.
Drowse me, sessions more,
In this ache of remembrance-dear.
Axe my legs, hatchet my fist-fingers down, via
The metals-incisive; silver, aluminium or brass,
If ever I shall take the aspirin of relief,
Or, to vie with my calligrapher,
By alchemy of Paracetamol:
Not to love her so anymore.
In lieu, do ever and ever rent my loins apart,
Liver slice and splice by the tunes of love,
Forthy, pain is the fountain of rhyme.
The flicker, I was harbouring for Sq.,
Sparks too flame the plank-construct of her heart,
Soon, she will burst out spontaneously, inundate-
As Mauna Loa volcano or Yellowstone Caldera:
“O Majnun, I too have t’is flame; simmering ache,
Raking, chafing, squeezing me terribly inside now.
The already wept tears, I too have wept for…”
The tears wreck a heavy toll on the excruciating attack.
Like a mother of nine, overcome the labour pains,
By bringing forth the neonate from darkness
Into lustre, likewise, catharsis in extent
This drowsy numbness of years,
That always did ignite the poet in ruthless flames
Of nourishing the ever-burning sulphur inside;
Of longing, separation, and of the distant love.
To worship this fire for the memento of my Cathy,
I too have only one religion to prostrate at,
The splendid face and the flaxen-ringlets of thine my lady.