A Prison Evening

Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
as if someone just happened to speak of love.
In the courtyard,
the trees are absorbed refugees
embroidering maps of return on the sky.
On the roof,
the moon - lovingly, generously -
is turning the stars
into a dust of sheen.
From every corner, dark-green shadows,
in ripples, come towards me.
At any moment they may break over me,
like the waves of pain each time I remember
this separation from my lover.

This thought keeps consoling me:
though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed
in rooms where lovers are destined to meet,
they cannot snuff out the moon, so today,
nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed,
no poison of torture make me bitter,
if just one evening in prison
can be so strangely sweet,
if just one moment anywhere on this earth.

         -- Faiz Ahmed Faiz (translated from Urdu)

Wonder if I'll ever feel with such intensity. Desire and pain, an intoxicating mix of emotions. Then again, is such drama something I would want in my life? I don't need a life of rollercoaster rides, they exhaust me in all ways.. and yet, what is it about such romantic idealisms that intrigue me? Perhaps it's better not to entertain such feelings. Afterall, feelings are merely transient and hence, ultimately of little importance.