Translated from the Bengali by Moulinath Goswami

Image used for representation.

Over many dawns, I have had you—
this I feel; light comes, the first radiance
of mist that has opened its eyes; along the seashore all birds
talk of coming back, terrain of water beneath your feet
tide in the folds of your wings, whether you would return
from the intense sun, I cannot predict
Such a taut string, before getting hurt
the kite keeps its lips shut for the last time…
Kites, close to Bhaskar grandpa’s heart, white tail,
like a snake
Not everything is love, only strife to inch a little close
to the one who never remains…

That you have made me sad, this
I write all night. Will a radiance like that of the sun
ever happen again in this life?
Living a decolored existence; a mystery metropolis; the breeze
as if its bridge, life on either side
You—a flower, and
on the ground lies milky-word-fragrance

The flute of seeds plays… silence it in rebirth. 

How I hang on to this thread of a road
the disheveled mind wonders, eyes as if fixed, slowly and slowly
not exactly rushing forward; just as a stringed top
comes back to its acquainted hands
gleefully spinning and spinning around…
all this isn’t here. Here it is only a stern string,
distressed faces of forefathers

This sport you have seen many a time, before
At least do not come now, the game that goes on all day and night
across waters and over infinity,
that you have thought to be wisdom at one point in time—
These days you might fear it.

Also, read three French poems by Patron Henekou, translated into English by Connie Voisine and the author, and published in The Antonym: 

Ode To The Organ Mountains & Other Poems— Patron Henekou

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