What shall I do with the spring
when I hear only the cuckoo moaning
and cannot see gorgeous flowers blossom?
What shall I do with the garden
Tagore's timeless poetry and everlasting lyrics.
Kazi Nazrul, the regally maned magnificent man,
rapturous in creation, oh joy.
Like bunches of blood-red Oleander, Like flaming clouds at sunset
Asad's shirt flutters
In the gusty wind, in the limitless blue.
To the brother's spotless shirt
Shower me with petals,
heap bouquets around me,
I won't complain. Unable to move
I go to a tree and say:
Dear tree, can you give me a poem?
The tree says: If you can pierce
My bark and merge into my marrow,
rom amidst the plundered temple
And the burnt ashes of the homestead
A disinterested voice reaches Sudhangshu -
'Will you go then, in the end?'
I'll soon be gone, quite alone
And quietly, taking none of you along
On this aimless journey. Useless
To insist, I must leave you all behind.
When you come from a distant place
And rest your feet in my backyard,
I become happy.
It has been a few weeks that
A dirt smudged postcard with bad handwriting
Sitting in his shirt pocket.