Translated by Nirendra Nath Thakuria

Painting by Debasish Saha

The Window

I open the door
when you are not beside me

In your absence
through the window
I see colourful butterflies
in the garden outside

The beauty of that garden
you won’t see without me

The window remains shut
when you’re beside me

In your presence
the garden in the closed room
is filled with buzzing

None other than you
can  see
can hear
that sweet buzzing

My Land My Poet

With my wife I visited the entire market
Nothing she bought

A devotee of beauty
a devotee of humanity
I myself
can’t do any injustice
can’t afford any corruption
and
can’t buy any gorgeous dress

Among thousands of folks few read poetry
For a couple of them I write poems

Poetry wins no bread
Poetry gives no dress
Poetry provides no bed

Yet poetry makes me forget my home

Representative

I’m
not myself

I’m a mere representative of time

Whatever I’ve done
is not my doing
It is the yield of punctuality

Whatever I haven’t done
is put aside not just dumped
It is the outcome of my not finding time

A pair of hands  a pair of feet
Partners in the passing of time
Can I be a seer of all times by choice

I cannot claim to be myself
I simply represent time

Love

After a love
Love doesn’t
come to an end

The heart has so many rooms

Each room is
a walking ground
free for the pedestrians of life

They sit
get up
in the room of their choice
live if they like
or else go away

The pedestrians can’t be trusted