If you could touch my body
and feel the stillness of my night,
the difficult silence between us,
the trapped fragrance of tube-rose
kept inside my closed poetry book
over my unfinished poem,
the climbers would grow in my heart
to reach up to the mouth
and be flowered over my tongue.
If my feelings do not knock at your heart,
our paths would also not cross each other for sure.
I would not look at that moon or tuberoses anymore.
The days am spending disregarded,
shall make my final hours more potent
than my willingness to live.
That day would not be far when
I have to spread my hands
for every thread of breath inhaled and exhaled.
When I die, dare you to cry for me
as that was my part of destiny
and shall end with my last journey,
you are fated to be happy
like the raindrops that get separated from the cloud
rush to meet the thirsty land,
like the newfound freedom of some caged birds
not willing to touch the ground.
Listen, would you keep my final request!
you lock your lips to my lips
before they place my body on the pyre,
before the fire eats my body part by part,
before the love in my heart and eyes get charred to ash.
That day I know you will taste the sweetness
of the fruits dangling on the climbers
grown in my heart and ripened on my tongue.