The Neglected Being

I remember a girl of the barren land

Of sand’s monotony and sloppy dunes,

Who laid out her veil on the warm sand

And sang in hums some orchard tunes;

For me to rest, her hand-woven veil

On warm sands ’neath the azure sky

With passionate eyes and a watery sigh,

Her bosom heaving like canvas sail.

As scorching sun oozed through the vine,

Lazily kneeling she stroked the lyre:

I watched in awe in a dreamy recline

As she whispered like a sobbing fire.

The thorns of cactii adorned the heath

And colored pebbles for necklace and collar;

I kept aside the thoughts in a sheath

Of melancholy tune, as the wind did holl’r.

Scraping the surface of the crafted sands

Wind blows, roses in ecstasy shiver;

Down her chin, like a rippling river,

Grazed the song her slack hair strands.

She looked at me, like a Nile goose,

Eyelashes shy, her neck did bend;

The kohl in her eyes in smudge diffuse

A drip o’ sweat, cheekbone glistened.

‘Eznebi, from the faraway lands

In rouged hues where lotus blooms,’

She untied her anklets’ leather bands,

‘And in the air where moisture looms,

‘Bring me a lotus, my Friend, won’t you,

From yer homeland that th’horizon hides?

Floats on water and of flamingo’s hue,

Playful adornment for Indian brides?’

All she asked for, ’fore fading away

In solar warmth that her humming held;

I slept on her lap, as did gracefully sway

In wind her skirt, while her calves cradled.

I woke up at dusk, refreshed and light,

Ahead I had the cold desert night;

I lit up a torch and tobacco pipe;

I knew I had the desert to swipe.

I cross’d the desert, I went to towns

That w’re built on some oasis lake,

Of unfriendly stones and hustle that drowns

A memory for which my brain I did rake.

It has been years, ages, millenia now:

We toured the cities and empires made

And crashed with swords and fire and bow

Of which tales’ve been written and said.

Of stories of love; of hatred’s deeds;

Of songs sang in feminine voice

At beds and cradles and gravestones cold,

At orchards and vines, to sapling seeds;

And music to which in spring rejoice

Village-folk ’neath the starry blue

With wine, and dance, and merrily hold

The men their women, and closer drew

With kisses staying in memory as dreams;

And as untrue in the morning it seems.

The sun one day had relentless blaze

And horizen seemed somewhat of a haze;

A promise suddenly to me back came,

With sweet hummings of a faded dame.

Where do I now find that island

Of mirth and music amidst the dunes?

And where is she whose humming tunes

Have chased me through my mighty errand?

She’d asked for a lotus as a gift that meant

A return of th’love that to me she showed;

A woman who undid her hood and lent

Me her scarf as the desert storm harrowed!

(The author acknowledges being unconsciously influenced by readings of Kazi Nazrul's poem Nari in collection Samyabadi, and a Sumerian cuneiform tablet to the same effect.)