We don’t lose our sister AloShome
but her simple, sweetful lines
which drizzle calm
and make serene the souls
of those who read them.
We don’t lose a niggling critic
but a gentle crusader
to set up phrases in order
and get our verses wet
with values human and common.
We don’t lose a kolkattan
but the breeze that blew
from the fertile Bengali Shore
without an ego proud or a stock
of chauvinistic missiles to fly.
Poetry will bring us together
though we drift apart to places asunder
Our thoughts are centripetal
towards working for human joy
and flay the ploys of unkind forces.
When we pack up to leave this world,
and our souls struggle to liberate from us’
among the role models flashing through our minds,
the portrait of the sanguine Alo Shome will be one
before meeting the eventual with smiles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem