Smearing the dropping sunlight the smile standing
On the courtyard in rows
The language made by the sound of dried leaves, that
Language is the collision of heavy boots.
In the body of the terrified girl there is legality attached with
All these being accumulated. All these are the capital
Of the ensuing dawn!
Just like the dawn emerges from into right
Since the time of creation.
But the smiles, laughters? Something else, or like the same?
Sunlight travels sitting on the wings of fear
Sounds in forests groaning in a low voice
Babla-Garan-Shaal-Mahua and the hidden
Bushes move and some people whispers
And appears helpless faces smeared with cloud.
Two lac roses for a little smell of boiled rice
Most of the bloodshed from two full tubs
And the pen’s eyes become full of
Tears when it tries to write down those letters…
If their strong demands counted as insurgence
Then, I, Sri Pranabkumar also an insurgent now.
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