Mark Sagal Poem by Pradip Saikia

I do not have any other task
Than drawing myself
On the face of the mirror

Because Mark Sagal sketched well
He knitted a spider's web
With seven fingers
Under the Sun

The black sheet weeps
When it does not see
My fingers in the bedroom
The baby of a fish floats
On the oxygen of the aquarium

In the still water of my album
A naked hand with seven fingers

Hapless curly haired Mark

Did your throat get parched
When you had been smearing fire
On your face

When you were searching for
Your own footprints
Inside
And
Outside

That day
Seven fingers grew
Through the fissure of darkness
In an inexplicable agony

# Translated from Assamese to English by: Bibekananda Chowdhury