Comments about Sudhindranath Dutta
The tree, a shock of red and yellow, shakes its crown;
The parrot hovers, kept from nest;
The year is overblown; the hangdog sun goes down;
And bones, though old, are yet impressed.
The wind alone is loud with distant lamentations ---
An infidel intoning runic evocations,
While Time, at wanton play amidst extinct oblations,
Reiterates its ageless jest;
And rid of dust from homing kine, the sky transcends the
common noun ---
The tree's ambition and the parrot's forfeit nest.
Then all at once, uprushing from chthonic deep,
The Dark Begetter ...