Sing Of Our Love Again
Why did you go away,
Why did you not abide in the land of my musical notations,
Why did you have to die?
Now that I am alone, this musician cannot set a soothing tune to our old lute.
Since you are no more dear one, I have been unplugged from reality.
The strings of the violin now no longer beckons me by its warmest cries,
The viola lies within the dust of your afterlife.
Sing I can’t for the choke of your parting clutches my throat while I am humming my soul to the crowd.
Your skeleton calls out to me, to play your empty ribs like a harp.
Skillfully your voice blows to me a chord in the wind on this hot summer’s brow.
In this world there is no one who can now take the place of what your laughter meant to me.
When your corpse was burnt to ashes so sacred, I intoned your cheerful greeting with the aid of my flute.
Teardrops evaporated from the essence of this musical last embrace.
The vocalist am I who earns a living with a guitar and a song, but without inspiration I can no longer carry on my melody.
The strings come undone many times, when I remember how once you embraced my life to yours without complaint.
This counter tenor cannot forget the night he sang for his own wedding on the sandy beach.
As the moon shimmered like the diamond upon your finger, you danced to my ballad.
The consolations I used to receive when I kissed your warm cheek in trembles, now will no more encourage me to carve another pipe.
That dirge they played on the day of your passing,
Has withered the red blossom out of my rose like heart
Which used to be gently watered by your loving gleefulness,
It’s all now gone you did not even give me time to sing a song of your parting.
Worthless are now all these songs of passion,
No meaning they hold just empty sheets filled with the sketches of long ago.
How I loved your soprano voice that used to sing away the darkness from my lonely nights!
No melody can now evermore contain within itself, the affection I have for you.
The grand piano plays all by itself now in the stillness of our home,
Your delicate fingers will no longer caress them in love.
Must my song now always encore the days we spent in each other’s spirits?
This song now chars my reminiscences into nothingness,
You were the diva of my orchestra, I your faithful accompaniment.
Till I return beloved of my life, let your fingers touch no stringed instrument.
When we lay in the river with our ashes forever,
To the sitar of the gods we shall yet sing about our love again.
Copyright © 2013 by Fiza Pathan
Image courtesy: Google images, wikimedia commons.