This is a loose translation of my Bengali original, which was written from my imagination when I was seventeen.


The untidy shivering of love on the body of my woman
This night— yes, this is our first—
The soft vibrations of her open hair
That I have felt, they aren’t a secret any more.

On her soft body alike the bristles of the paint-brush
Here I am lying down, at this hour of togetherness—
All the emptiness of being separated has vanished
This night; it will never end, it will see no dawn.

In the completeness of our being, we feel overwhelmed
Because freedom and wilderness has ceased all our fears.
Via the touches of our wet bodies
And the language of the eyes, we communicate.

Repeatedly I capture her skin within my lips;
Our endless love will never be punctuated—
Youth has added to this determination—
And thus has ceased all distance between us.

Tears from her eyes are shedding the last bits of embarrassment.
Wrinkles on her forehead signal her worry that the clock is ticking.
Deep love has slowly worn this nakedness,
Which makes her mine, only mine.


9 thoughts on “Mine

  1. Pingback: আমার
  2. I would like to think what she must be thinking. As she sits on the corner of her bed, listening to the soft-buzz of his chords, running her fingers through her clumsy coagulated hair, wondering how to make love to him, wearing up her make, showing off in tight jeans and low cut tees and when he re-enters the room, bearing an idiotic grin on his face. As he asks, he scans her body… She murmurs, “It felt good…” I would like to think what she must be thinking…

    P.S. I could not stop giving an idiotic sequel to your description… But you are too good dude… Just keep on writing…

    Liked by 1 person

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