You in the Mirror of Memory
— Suraiya Alamgir Anarkali
That night, steeped in memory, was free of mist—
yet the mist resided within us.
Then, the stars ventured a little further into the open,
slipping from the hem of the sky.
The village of memory glowed with a blue light;
in that blue light, I beheld
your fair, faithful hand.
Around the sky, around the shirish trees,
that blue light cast its gentle, soft radiance.
On that night—our first meeting—
a few fleeting moments blossomed,
vibrant, glowing, and flushed with a deep, crimson hue.
Where you are now, I do not know;
at the water’s edge of my heart, a soft, rippling sound stirs—
a pitcher of water caught amidst the bamboo grove.
The crescent moon of love—
amidst sleepless tales, the whistle of a train
pierces through.
Outside, the winter night grows ever deeper;
everything remains just as it once was—
only, within the trunk of my heart,
rust has quietly taken hold.
At the day’s end, in the melody of a shepherd’s flute,
I seem to hear that primal, innate ache.
Like a flowing river, time—merciless and silent—drifts on.
I carve through the stone of moonlight,
calling out to the river that winds past a procession of ashwatha leaves.
Everything remains exactly as it was—
everything stays precisely where it once belonged;
only you have departed, wandering off on uncertain,
wayward steps toward some unknown, distant destination.
Translated by: Abul Khair
