I am the watchman of this crematorium

I am the watchman of this crematorium

“Your bright eyes

remind me the clouds of dawn and…”

Darling, do not try to avoid

in a hurry

the peacock's feather

and the soft, silky dawns.

Because,

on the trail of moonlight will be 

multitude of clouds

behind every day

will be arrival of nights too

I do not want to see

the shadows of worry in your eyes

where stars shine and wane.

I do not want fire of hatred

To burn in those eager eyes. 

Do not think that

I fear your eyes

which are soft and wet

with Love.

My love,

when the sound of clock of moments

tear off the silence,

days and weeks and months and years

perform here the last rites

for the defeated who is dead

with withered, lifeless flowers.

Know that what I like to-day

is the smell of burning flesh

and the water of the stream,

and I stand guard along with moonlight

over half-burnt hill of corpses.

I laugh at times

Looking at the souls

who run away seeing the fire. 

When their sympathy will be decreed as

the eternal world and freedom of tender birds

who desire to fly,

when you will be without body

and your body will be burnt,

I will be the guard

of this crematorium.

I will submit as an offering

in front of you,

whose heart is wet with love,

the red flag

which I kept in my heart

and the black flag

which is flying upon myself.

Because I am

the guard of this crematorium.