November days come back with their usual cold
The sun slips to silence in the West
Twilight hours are carved like strings of guitar
We feel cold, we feel Kolkata winter.
The errant skies are lit with crimson fire
Labyrinthine insomnia all around
The office goers board the crowded Metro
The birds are all home bound.
November days bring back feeble light
The roses are silent all the night.
The buses eye the city with one broken headlight
Dancing neon flames left and right.
The police is drowsy and yet takes bribes
The hawkers cry with their items and knives
Red flags like oleander are drying
The children wrapped in green flags were crying
In the tunnel or you may call it underpass
The invisible staircase with footsteps of netas (leaders)
November days are short and shorter
As if life is closing its shutter.
Cold around all, all around
No flicker of light, no loud thud nor any sound.
Silence is everywhere
November evening is once more here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful descriptive atmosphere in this poem that evokes Kolkata.