The Divine has thousands faces,
As elements in periodic table are,
She peeps in her creation as she desires.
Often in one she bestows her own kind,
The idealization of feelings with strange winds,
This enigma of an actress, in Suchitra Sen we find.
Strangeness of beauty with multitudinous strings,
The Dumb-Unconscious in her face spreads wings,
Shakespeare, Beethoven, Jackson, -in her art ring.
She is beyond class, as the Divine rises from her urn,
At her will she rejects film, and manifests as lay-nun.
Her revelation of Infinite in finite art,
Would remain as magic museum in trillion hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem