I was born with all the
time of the world-
I’m one such a
happy-go-lucky poet;
I’ve bathed my body in
the sea,
All alone in the
darkness;
I’ve loved the colored
sunlight,
I’ve wandered around
the weary autumn field,
In the laps of green
like a grasshopper.
I’ve seen a teenage
girl plucking yellow rhododendron:
Her red wet dress
draping her chest,
Echoing a melancholic
tune of a conch.
The sky in the morn is
bloomed
By the flocks of swans:
their new songs
Trigger the new dawns-
The pink waves of the
river talk a lot-
And they keep murmuring
all along;
Yet their words are
never devoured by the winter fog.
Someone sitting in the
petals of a painted cloud,
Is listening to
everything-
Or no one is listening
at all;
Everything fades out in
the blank mist.
I too will be wiped out
one day like a spectrum;
And yet I sit on the
green grass; fall in love;
Wait in a solitary seclusion
for the sounds of footsteps,
With the yearnings of
her love; collect the wild plums-
I’m supposed to give
them to someone.
One can sit for hours on this soft grass,
Alone, with all such
dreams;
And when it will be the
time to sleep,
I will close my
eyes.
© Atique R.
It’s a translation of
the Bengali poem, ‘Ei Prithibite Ami Obosor Niye Sudhu Asiachi,’ by Jibanananda Das.
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