by Fiza Pathan
Maybe it is true that you won’t come back now,
Maybe it is true our love story should end so abruptly.
But what you do not know is that even I’m going away,
To a little piece of land where the east wind blows.
There will I reside with my family and my memories of you,
I’ll strain all the sad thoughts like the way
The Chinese woman filters the goat’s milk.
There will I bury the bones of my promises to you,
And pick up the rice grains of joy where the east wind blows.
My life will be spent in contemplation of your affection to me,
I’ll drown my tears in a cup of green tea.
I’m darn my robe of all its torn patches,
And dress myself in orange dragons where the East wind blows.
In a rural setup I will erase your lofty oaths of ardour from my heart,
I’ll sing oriental songs of the people who seem so much like me.
Time is the best healing balm of this loving soul of mine,
In the Yellow River I will dive till I am cleansed of you
As long as the east wind blows.
I won’t marry another but I can still love again,
A young Peking stranger with his arms around my throbbing existence.
He will soothe the urge to return my empty hopes back to you,
I will walk with him while the east wind blows.
I don’t want to remember the sorrow, not today, not even tomorrow.
There is so much here for me to do,
I can’t give up living just because of a crazy thing called love.
The east wind can lift me up when I am all around you.
Copyright © 2013 Fiza Pathan