To which lonesome abode do you beckon me <br />plaintively <br />again and again, my friend! <br />My roadside home, full of sorrows, <br />is blown up by the storm every now and then <br />and so, made homeless, I roam around. <br />The haunting tune of your flute <br />loosens all ties. <br />That's how I am a wayfarer <br />searching round and round <br />farther and farther afield <br />for the roadside bride. <br /> <br />Beloved mine, <br />you get jealous for the slightest cause, <br />that's why you never stop by the wayside. <br />your pains wring my heart. <br />To make a home by the wayside <br />your eyes become tearful. <br /> <br />The scarf sweeps the wet grass. <br />Your doleful tune, friend, <br />draws up sighs <br />and moistens the eyes. <br /> <br />[Translation: Zakeria Shirazi]<br /><br />Kazi Nazrul Islam<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-distant-friend/
