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Non-Fiction

An Ode to My Love

Abdullah Shibli
I met you many years ago, and while my memory some days plays tricks with me now, I still can see, even on a very dark night, you standing there demurely when I first said Hello. I saw an old photo of you the other day, clad in a red saree, standing with your eyes cast down and a very sweet mysterious smile on an angelic face. The date on the back told me you were but a teenager then. My heart broke loose, and my whole body and soul yearned to be with you then.
You have been with me-on some days literally, on others only in my thoughts, and always on a moonlight night-as I breathe, walk, sing, close my eyes, or even doze off. You give me love, inspiration, music, words, and the joyousness to keep writing when my pen can go no further. When I hear a new song, I try to imagine how to sing it to you. A new flower blooms and 1 conspire to capture it for you. My flight of imagination gets hold of me and I am with you.
I remember on a moonlit night, as 1 embraced you before I said "Good bye" after an evening of love, songs, talk, on the same rooftop, you held me tight, and I don't know whether you heard my heart beating fast. When I finally released you from the embrace, I know you also felt sad to let me go. Then you looked up, since you could only reach to my shoulder, touched my chin with the back of your palm and said may be in a fit of sorrow, "I can only reach up to here". I held your beautiful loving eyes, and said, "You are always here, right in my heart."
On some days, I travel, or work long hours, and don't get to see you. But I don't fret about it, or let my heart cry out. I know you are there in my heart, in my soul, my motion, my vision, my words, or sitting next to me in the car as I go about my daily business. When I read a nice story, I know you will enjoy it, and have to hold back the urge to run to you to show it to you. When I sing, I feel like singing aloud for you. Alas, you are so far away. You say, "send me an email or text me”. You work at a faraway place and I cannot make a plan to stop by unannounced. Actually, I don't call you or meet you at your work. Will your colleagues speak behind your back, I wonder? Will your students smile or even whisper if they see you with a man they haven't seen before? 1 don't know.
Some days, I wake up and you are sleeping next to me. I can hear you breathe and smell your fragrance. I wonder whether you also have me in your dreams. But, even you didn't I don't mind at all. You are all mine in my dreams. But now as I lie awake next you, suddenly a song comes to me, "Amar raat pohalo sharod pratey, bashi tomay diye jabo kahar hatey?" (English: My night comes to an end, fading into the soft daylight of a gleeful autumn morning. Who would take this flute of mine?) You are often a flute in my dreams, and I wonder whom should I leave thee with?
Yes, I often dream of you (and not always at night, let me confide.) In my dreamland, we can go places, play games, and say things that we can't do when we are together. You might ask, "Why only in your dreams?" "Well", I would say, "How
do I play soccer with you when we meet?" And if I were to sing aloud when I am with you, might not the onlookers think I am harassing you and come to your rescue, since I sing so passionately with gestures when I sing for you? Or, you might feel embarrassed if I take you to a soccer field and start kicking around a soccer ball. Plus, there wouldn't be enough time to sing all the songs, recite all the poems, and narrate all the wonderful stories I want to share with you! There are only twenty four hours in a day, and sometimes I despair that I will carry with me to the other world many of the poems, songs, and sweet nothings that I gather during my waking hours. I have sometimes considered writing them all down and send them to you, but held back because 1 wonder whether you will read them. Then I also worry that cold words, hand-written or printed, will not be able to convey to you what I really want to tell you, with the passion and tone, and the fondness that I can muster when I am with you. If I leave a song on your voice mail, will you hear the same tune that you hear I sing to you in person?
I was at work when I called you this morning at home, and I told you, "I love you" and you said in reply, “I know". I feel that was what made my day. I do not mind that you did not say "I love you too" in return. Love is not only about to be loved and to love. But also to let her know how you feel, and then have the acknowledgement that you just gave. When you say "I know", to me it means she understands!
As my day progresses, today I just want to hold you, say sweet nothings in your ears, hear you giggle at these silly words. 1 like the way you crack up at my jokes. I want to feel you, touch you, tickle you, and always to kiss you. I can still taste the first kiss when I kiss you now and I feel the same rush. Sometimes during my silliness you ask, "Are you still a teenager?" I feel like saying to the world I am! Your love keeps me ever green. Do you remember the day when we went to a Meenabazaar at Ladies Club and, for the first time, you were not afraid to be seen with me? And I felt so happy to be standing side by side when Amina, one of the beauty queens of the city, came and said to you, "You have the most beautiful eyes". I was dying to tell you the same thing for some days but could not, and she stole it away from me. Even now, after all these years, I want to tell you how I feel before the words have been said by others. 1 still feel jealous when you spend a minute away from me. Why can't I say at the top of my voice, "She has my heart?" But, alas I will never be able to. My friend, NibaronChakrobardy, from Tagore's Shesher Kobita, might have put it better when he said, "Jey kotha roy praner bhitor ogochorey, gaaney gaaney niye chhiley churi korey". (Translation: All those melody, all those intimate songs of mine, those, you stole secretly from my heart.) Alas, I have no way but to quote from Tagore to show you my feelings in its entire panorama. 1 will copy all his love poems and songs and send them to you by next Valentine's Day.
DR. ABDULLAH SHIBL1 LIVES AND
WORKS IN BOSTON, USA.