Open the chest and across the sea
It was my hobby.
The Bengali night was sleeping on my mother's lap.
Gray blood came along with the way of conspiracy.
Then the bleeding was dropping by the angry black cats.
Red heart seemed white.
Melting, became ultra-combustion steam.
Still I see the special white rice.
My photo has been equipped with various flowers.
My son hears my story, she is silent.
I say - I'm well, mother.
SANDIP GOSWAMI, INDIA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem