You read foreign poem in mild light
In recluse drawing room. I was sitting beside you
Sound trap; the phrases were fallen as fallen leaves
Were flying with your consummate remembrance. Oh gritty.
It seems at the moment you’re smooth, daughter of wisdom,
Telling compulsive tone in poem running me
Taking far shadowy mansion, who live there
Not are known though all agnation, familiarity.


After reciting poem some supernatural buzz
Remains in deep tranquility, surprised you look
At me again. What a beauty —
In your body as the light of Sab-e-Barat
Burning, in eyes of eternal shade, I’m silent too
Sit, in this rare aesthetic transition period.
N.B: Translated from Shamsur Rahman’s poetry