Every time, this plaintive mind comes to think of you
I find myself swiveling in a vortex of oblivion
As if like my melancholy, you have kept me rapt
In a titanium cocoon
Whether I love you or not
Is immaterial now, just like my erstwhile pleasures,
Which have long-gone rancid
And may even turn poisonous, soon
Whether I recall your caresses or not
Is meaningless now, just like our promises of fidelity
Which have long become parodies
And may even in music shops be strewn
Whether my mind recognizes betrayal
Is impertinent now, just like your perfume
Which has long vapourized from my body
And may even be lost in the acrid monsoon
Whether I remember your lips or not
Is inconsequential now, just like all your retaliations
Which have seamlessly hardened as scars
And may even be lost in my painless oblivion
Every time, this plaintive mind comes to think of you
I find myself swiveling in a vortex of oblivion
Wondering whether I should live or forever
Surrender myself to the oblivion and you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem