Laying on my back and under a revealing net
On pillow, the body in a suitable posture is set;
Feet outspread, grudgingly I force my person to read
But unable to apply concentrate, sadly, I rub my eye and hang my heavy head.
This is only our first month apart!
Our extreme pleasures of years gone-by are now turned to bitter pang
At this moment, what preoccupies your lonely heart?
Hands lowered at my side, who’d discern my brutal grieving!
Sounds of midnight wind and odours of scented dust fill my room
Swarms of buzzing mosquitoes dive and soar to the painted roof
For how long will I count on fingers dashing tears piled on the floor?
Longing endlessly for you have since topped the list of my idle pursuits,
Can vainly embracing your portrait on my sickbed bear any fruits?
Instead of reciting my pent-up sentiments, as usual, backwards,
Tonight, too distressed to compose on colored pads,
I’ll have conveyed my knotty sorrow in a song, and facing homewards.