TRANSLATIONS: ARUNAVA SINHA

Who’s your friend? Is it a sigh?
Mine too
My emptiness can’t be measured
Yours too?

The seasons pass along a distant road
They don’t come to my door when I call
In vain I go out when the flute plays
The wind just laughs at me with scorn

You had a basket, not a garden
Me too
I had a river, not a boat
You too?

The rain lashes your bed
A dust storm sweeps my room
In your room is my cloud
In my bed is your chill