To Pain

I can give thou pain in return for pain,
Let all the love be spoiled in vain.
If there is any thing called heart, my dear,
Let it be pierced with the pain like spear.

Yet I'll say, it is this pain
In which true delight we find,
It is this pain which
Brings spring in our mind.

Our eyes be filled with tears
When we feel pique and put our hands
Into the hands of pain,
It is this pain which
In the lonely Shravan night
Causes to come down rain.

It is this pain which once teaches us love
And again teaches us indifference
When both of us forgetting each other
Go to two different ways.

(Note: `Shravan'-the fourth month of Bengali calender usually remarkable for heavy rain.)

poem by Riffat Samad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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