Poetry Poem ( Translation Aryanil Mukherjee)

Words are a pain! I attempted to return to them

and failed. Latched on to their buoyed selves

like an exhausted doe. Lily leaves

mossed sluggish.

I love words. Their lives. And returned to them

with an extended wet darkness of nowhere

with a love gone putrid

Decay slipping off from this palm

Death and fear rearranged on the

other

What dawn is a word ! My love for the afternoon

misguide me into this morning – one that keeps peeling

to reveal the onion’s repulsive heart.

Translated from Bengali by Aryanil Mukherjee