REVERIE OF MAHOMED AKRAM AT THE TAMARIND TANK
translated into English by: Laurence Hope (1865-1904)
- HE Desert is parched in the burning sun
- And the grass is scorched and white.
- But the sand is passed, and the march is done,
- We are camping here to-night.
- I sit in the shade of the Temple walls,
- While the cadenced water evenly falls,
- And a peacock out of the Jungle calls
- To another, on yonder tomb.
- Above, half seen, in the lofty gloom,
- Strange works of a long dead people loom,
- Obscene and savage and half effaced--
- An elephant hunt, a musician's feast--
- And curious matings of man and beast;
- What did they mean to the men who are long since dust?
- Whose fingers traced,
- In this arid waste,
- These rioting, twisted, figures of love and lust.
-
- Strange, weird things that no man may say,
- Things Humanity hides away;--
- Secretly done,--
- Catch the light of the living day,
- Smile in the sun.
- Cruel things that man may not name,
- Naked here, without fear or shame,
- Laugh in the carven stone.
- Deep in the Temple's innermost Shrine is set,
- Where the bats and the shadows dwell,
- The worn and ancient Symbol of Life, at rest
- In its oval shell,
- By which the men, who, of old, the land possessed,
- Represented their Great Destroying Power.
- I cannot forget
- That, just as my life was touching its fullest flower,
- Love came and destroyed it all in a single hour,
- Therefore the dual Mystery suits me well.
- Sitting alone,
- The tank's deep water is cool and sweet,
- Soothing and fresh to the wayworn feet,
- Dreaming, under the Tamarind shade,
- One silently thanks the men who made
- So green a place in this bitter land
- Of sunburnt sand.
- The Peacocks scream and the grey Doves coo,
- Little green, talkative Parrots woo,
- And small grey Squirrels, with fear askance,
- At alien me, in their furtive glance,
- Come shyly, with quivering fur, to see
- The stranger under their Tamarind tree.
- Daylight dies,
- The Camp fires redden like angry eyes,
- The Tents show white,
- In the glimmering light,
- Spirals of tremulous smoke arise, to the purple skies,
- And the hum of the Camp sounds like the sea,
- Drifting over the sand to me.
- Afar, in the Desert some wild voice sings
- To a jangling zither with minor strings,
- And, under the stars growing keen above,
- I think of the thing that I love.
- A beautiful thing, alert, serene,
- With passionate, dreaming, wistful eyes,
- Dark and deep as mysterious skies,
- Seen from a vessel at sea.
- Alas, you drifted away from me,
- And Time and Space have rushed in between,
- But they cannot undo the Thing-that-has-been,
- Though it never again may be.
- You were mine, from dusk until dawning light,
- For the perfect whole of that bygone night
- You belonged to me!
- They say that Love is a light thing,
- A foolish thing and a slight thing,
- A ripe fruit, rotten at core;
- They speak in this futile fashion
- To me, who am wracked with passion,
- Tormented beyond compassion,
- For ever and ever more.
- They say that Possession lessens a lover's delight,
- As radiant mornings fade into afternoon.
- I held what I loved in my arms for many a night,
- Yet ever the morning lightened the sky too soon.
- Beyond our tents the sands stretch level and far,
- Around this little oasis of Tamarind trees.
- A curious, Eastern fragrance fills the breeze
- From the ruinous Temple garden where roses are.
- I dream of the rose-like perfume that fills your hair,
- Of times when my lips were free of your soft closed eyes,
- While down in the tank the waters ripple and rise
- And the flying foxes silently cleave the air.
- The present is subtly welded into the past,
- My love of you with the purple Indian dusk,
- With its clinging scent of sandal incense and musk,
- And withering jasmin flowers.
- My eyes grow dim and my senses fail at last,
- While the lonely hours
- Follow each other, silently, one by one,
- Till the night is almost done.
- Then weary, and drunk with dreams, with my garments damp
- And heavy with dew, I wander towards the camp.
- Tired, with a brain in which fancy and fact are blent,
- I stumble across the ropes till I reach my tent.
- And then to rest. To ensweeten my sleep with lies,
- To dream I lie in the light of your long lost eyes,
- My lips set free,
- To love and linger over your soft loose hair--
- To dream I lay your delicate beauty bare
- To solace my fevered eyes.
- Ah, -- if my life might end in a night like this --
- Drift into death from dreams of your granted kiss!
"Reverie of Mahomed Akram at the Tamarind Tank" is reprinted from India's Love Lyrics. Trans. Laurence Hope. New York: John Lane Co., 1906. |
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