The Other Eye

Mesfakus Salahin
Assistant Professor of English
Namoshankor Batti College
Chapainawabganj
Bangladesh

In one eye of yours dwells a silvery moon,
In the other, an eternally youthful sun.
It is that other eye I prefer the most;
Touching the moon feels like walking, holding the fingers of the night.
I deeply love that crimson fire— In the sun-bellows,
I melt day after day,
Becoming mountain and river at the port of toil;
The sun is my fiery bliss.

The mud-streaked sun of dawn eventually turns into a fiery red glow;

Drenched in the hues of dreams, the mountain stones become exquisite art.
The sun’s fragrance, caught in the hem of autumn’s robe,
Gradually finds its way into the braid of your hair.
Beloved,
Let your secret mysteries rest upon the mountains of the moon;
But grant me the river of the sun—
I shall float or sink in its waters for eternity.
Do not ask for an accounting—
Of who loved whom and to what extent; Termites have made a home in my heart
Had I stopped to calculate, I would not have loved
Touch the veil of existence, hold fast to time—

 I, too, am like the living sun.