You’re mine long-lost Atlanta.
Seeing you make me the remembrance of Begum, of any Badshah.
Seeing you I can draw a treasure map.
Your arrival forecast the arrival of a storm.
Seeing you I can make out ancient poets’ words on the love.
Your words pamper the weather around of yours,
The words that arouse from blue of my heart find a shelter.
(can) awake the mute,
(can) stop the bullet of a rogue.
In your eyes,
I see my destruction,
the veil of thoughts gets vanish.
(make) fogged the surrounding.
(make) eclipse the full moon.
Your long black hair
Proof how much dust has gathered over Kalinga-Pompeii.
The small hairs on your forehead,
Seems like cobwebs on paintings of masters like Da Vinci.
(Can) defeat the serene beauty of the moon,
(Can) let a problem child utter new words.
You’re mine solitary,
You’re mine depression.
I search you in hot summer noon, in the silver moonlight.
I search you often in the ruins of Gour, often in a deep well.
You’ve created an enigma in my heart and mind.
S’time, I think,
Are you the rhythm of a poem
Are you love for another one.
For you the pages of history leave a deep breath–
They murmured under the breath
(Listening carefully they reveal)
The story of how Gour faced destruction,
The story of the abolition of Mughal Dynasty.
I could hear the weeping of Rani of Jhansi
and the plea from the ache of Ashoka.
You know, Amrita,
How many stories of Chitor had been written on your kajal;
How many kingdoms without king had got shelter in your anchal.
That red lipstick on your lips seems to be blood of revolutionaries–
Writing stories of whom made a’one hand stiff.
The orna shadowed innumerable events of Ramayana, Mahabharata,
Can create so many rumors out of nowhere.
My soul goes missing whenever I see you,
Like water in Sahara on the bosom of the earth.
Your smile, that little slight smile,
Can make so many unspoken words spoken under the breath.
Are you chyme from Veda?
(Or) some deep treacherous conspiracy?