Kolkata...the name crawls underneath
My senses start romping;
My childhood, youth and love
Owe you this man.
Someday in this sense
I may call you up
And meet by Hooghly
To make a confession -
'You have made me
And in a way
I made you too...
I am thirsty
But I wonder
How I can implore
You to pour
A little wine of your age old music
Into my groove;
I am not sure
Who is filling up
Your glass.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem