Dibyendu's WallScript

There was no reason for loss, so many years had gone across— yet loss arrived, it had to be, in certain things, defeat holds majesty. Do you see, Madhavi?   The sunflower never bears a grudge against the sun’s unyielding touch. Between you and me, no wound was made, perhaps in youth some scars still stayed.   But now, so many days have flown, and suddenly one night is known— it waits inside my quiet room, a sudden bloom after years of stone.   Your household breathes—its pulse is clear, it is good, yet jealous near. It loves you, true, yet deep within your heart still hides that secret kin.   You said tonight, Madhavi, sure— you know the reason, nothing more: for happiness alone you came, to the mess-room near Shyambazar’s flame. Had you once thought it so before?   And now the winter chamber lies, a bed where both our bodies rise— will he arrive, after so long? Leaving behind your safety’s song, your world of order, home and pride, to let a little love reside. ...

One world— woven in dream’s own pattern, where I search for myself, where all connection is severed, where the mind may plough fields beneath the unstoppable speed of light, and joy may rest, content to spend its hours in love, where none demand, where idleness itself becomes a festival, and the heart goes wandering— astonished, carried by waves through paths Platonic, with an imagined, furious haste.   And yet— a merciless morning returns the body, back to society’s narrow banks, to the world where ties are cut, where the crossing from here to there remains forever unwalked, and my unhappy heart longs for the passage that cannot be crossed.   Here there is no peace, no certainty of desire fulfilled; yet sorrow abides, yet fever and wounds remain, while forgetful mind is slain. Again and again it seeks escape, leaving the body behind, yearning to travel elsewhere, bearing only the free unconscious mind, where eternal spring resides, where joy of life might be as I have dreamed...

Wrinkles rise, weary, etched upon the skin, as age gathers quietly, like waves upon the sea, each arriving, tireless, upon the other, each fading, extinguished, into the heart’s dark. Desires swell full in the hidden abyss, though I never thought of the depth’s own hunger; the vastness of waves grows within, clutching heaps of distortions, shadows of being. In the chasm flashes unknown lightning, erasing forever the road of eternal life; and if once you rise, you must one day fall, for the mind’s wide world vanishes in an instant. Wrinkles deepen, bold upon the face of time— signs of experience carved by life’s passage; and death itself becomes the final application, the last enactment of experience.