The Bankura Horses
In Bishnupur our horses do not fly
Like the horses of the sun's chariot
Their long decorated necks look pretty
But break soon and dissolve in the earth.
Our Mother’s head broke in splinters
In her royal father’s uninvited house.
Our terra cotta temples are Godless
Our temple ponds are washermens ghats
Our gods no longer adorn the Dance Hall
To witness the divine love dance
We now have potato cold storages
And listless young men playing cards
Under the shade of the banyan tree
Our horses do not fly these days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem