The Blow Poem by Soumen Chattopadhyay

On my unknown road, at the blank night of the crematory
You come to me
Thus you come, when stricken hard by the sorrow, too much personal
This midnight, I stretch two shivering hands towards the heaven
Show by raising the finger
The mummy of the great time, the burnt ancient sign
Inside, the broken day is finished
I'm illuminated at the falling of ray
At the obscure sunset
Have seen you after the ruin of reposeful civilization
When the evening river appears in me
I dream the fossils in the stream of blood
In the grappled Bainchi bush
The land of Mahua hears the tune of cricket
In my nerves, it shivers the canvas of Lakshmi
The flying perched rice, the moist darkness
On the way of departing, those who looked at the children
Many of them know
That the stream of birth of son is intensely painful
Nevertheless loving the darkness
They've given birth following the rule of origination
Inside being endangered, blood-soaked
They have been shattered
Before such spoil, the grave truths bring the sacred blow