Bringing home Rupa Tashmin,
I saw an apple and a knife on my table.
Opening the northern window,
the wild-fowl warbled in the wood,
it fluttered the whole afternoon in that girl.
A gang of boys of my own block
pelts with stones towards
my southern windows.
I keep on listening to an unheard melody, on and on...
On my birthday that year,
my neighbors gifted me
a bottle of carbolic acid and a pack of holy books!
(Translated from Bangla by Raihan Sharif)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.