PARTING

It is still warm in the strands  of this poem

The flying kiss you blew to me on that day our path

Had to be ripped apart by two roads.

I always feel on my lips, 

On my cheeks,

On the forehead of every  entombed afternoon,

Or on each blossoming dawn,

Its tenderness and aroma 

Which is amalgamated with the breeze.

I have gone too far, maybe as distant 

As you have reached

And if I have to look back to the place where

Our handclasp had loosened, I could 

No longer see the two shadows

Which were pulled apart,

The darkness of this forest swallowed me

And the valleys and hills I passed by 

Have buried the place.

But in my every step and yours,

The memory engulfs me stronger 

And I disclose, 

Your presence keeps smoldering.

To tell you, I used to relate 

You to the beauty of flowers-

From budding to blooming; 

To the flawless and fog-skirted

Mountains or their ears with rainbow rings.

But now, your face, your everything,

The typical skin of creation does not

Have ample figurative panorama to spell you out.

Your substance has gone so deep now,

Deeper than the pots we have accustomed

To make when we were young

By dipping our dirty elbows in the sand

To make hollows, filling them up

With our playfulness and laughters.

Your memento is the only spring

That can reach the eye-sucking bottom

Of this parching  abyss of my heart.