Shamsul Alam Belal :
Someone with silver charm still haunts me
Hanging on my neck,
Reminds me of a promise of my tender age
Striking on my back.
The harder I try to make a living, the more
Tiresome is my time,
Yet on rear wheels I am pulled back to ring
A nonexistent chime
That rang first twenty years ago when I was
Only eighteen in age,
She was sixteen, melded into Ghalib’s poem
That glowed in rage.
At the first sight like anger’s marks of steel
Or fireballs in dark,
Soon she calmed down and unveiled all her
Beauties like a lark,
Embarked upon the wings of joy and never
She was back home.
My flute plays Behag and my heart burns
Like Nero’s Rome.
