The signature of the afternoon gradually fades away
Bearing the foot-prints offered by a lucky pot
The new born happiness hangs around the edge of lips
Busy eating hot omelet
I'm still dwelling in my home-stead
As if tied by shackles made of water
Attached with me is
a lot of my childhood
a lot of swimming lessons
Air painted with fish-fry
I admit
is earthen and sweet
Soaked up by the evening
is my tiredness
hidden beneath my cloak
My trigonometric figure daubs itself
with the dripping womb from a moon
June gloom
Presents my ear
The beats of Bangla-Dhak
Even that has so many transformations
sometimes to the invocation of the deity
sometimes to the sacrifice of a he-goat
sometimes to the immersion of idol
Filled only with the whirlpool of
so many easily digestives
is this fish-irrigated lifestyle
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem