TRANSLATED FROM THE BENGALI BY MANDAKRANTA SEN
Meat and liquor and throwing at one another dirt
This, also is, a playful love
Anything like a poet or weapon-
I approach them as if they were art
Still, smelling odour of the dead
Wayward shadows come home
Even the futile nights gradually learn
Some people throw up blood instead
Like this the dusk flows
One part fame and one part fear of death
Getting through it come
and mix with the mates
O burnt cloud of the night
You have descended
With stored anxiety of days, your stooped down head
Yet the heat of extinguishing, the Palash, dishevelled
Only a meadowish moon, what it was supposed to – gave
You are being lost in the cloud, with your olden age, and loads of enchantment
As daytime grows in your bosom, the wind is not competent
The eyes are glowing, yet, you see
Another windpipe is hacked
Just like the rain takes place another comeback
I won’t go to school, neither you to your office.
I will swim for ten years
In your lap in the murky darkness, for long ten years
I will be blended with that blood.
I will be smeared with your nausea and agony.
Then what a wailing, you know
Both of us
Blazing so fiercely
No, not under the scalpel of a surgeon, but we will throw ourselves
Violently on the sand of a seashore, and waves would come and wash away
All our filth. You will lull me to sleep day and night. You will full me in your lap
And see what a glutton I am, I will grab your right breast,
And suck in one breath from the other…
The whole lifetime will come to an end drinking in turns like this
I would never go to school, and you would have a lifetime of maternity leave….
So, you are shutting down, realizing the end
Catching a glimpse of that illuminated turn-
Is it wrong?…I feel so, my friend Froth adhering to my abode, for days
No sea beaches, that’s far away, and impossible to graze
Windhouse, without touch, sweet colours of yours.
Pervading the aloof circle, a fragrance which one adores
Winding and winding beyond the night
Wash away scars of burn with rumpled brown high tide
Like this, along the edge, two buds of sadness, so lonely
She has sucked the pulp, of which, the secluded rooftop is aware only
Is it just illusion of the night, leaming the brinks of the body of late
You have been burnt craving for sleep.
The line of fate.
Some evenings are so lonely
Just to give a song to listen to
Birds, amorous with moonlight
Come out to decorate the garden
I too, am somehow like a human,
So, in the queue for auto rickshaw
At ten o’clock in the night.
feel, some evenings are born
Just to transform themselves into music
Some evenings, because of there incapability to do that,
Go by… just