An eye had wandered, to another’s beloved, her leg.
When, carelessly, her sari lifted just a little -
Outside, the rain comes down. A lantern’s been lowered underneath the table, in the dark
Now and then the fair lustre of a hidden foot drifts up...
The fault is not in the eye. There was no choice but to look.
Wasn’t there? Why? -- Rainspray rushes in noisily
Wasn’t there? Why? -- Flowering bushes leap on barbed wire
Wasn’t there? Why? -- From the one who has no right
Everything is concealed by a fringe of embroidered lace...
Now the rain has stopped. Now she too has left the room.
Only, the breeze returns. Only, like the eye of a powerless man
From time to time the lantern beneath the table trembles.
[Translated from 'Ekti Brishtir Sandhya' (Bengali) by Oindrila Mukherjee]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem