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We are not dead yet – even as scenes are born:
Mahin’s horses eat grass in the wilderness of the full moon On an autumn night,
All the horses of the Stone Age – still grazing
On the shapeless dynamo called earth. Looking for grass.
The scent of the stables floats in a crowded night breeze;
The piercing sound of a depressed straw
Falling through a steel mill;
The tea cups – asleep like kitten, in the
fuzzy grasp of mangy dogs
Turned into frost at the pice-restaurant over there
The calmness of time
Extinguishes the paraffin-lanterns at the round stables;
As the neolithic hush of the full moon bathes these horses.


This is a translation of the poem ‘Ghoda’ by Jibanananda Das. This is a small tribute for the great poet on his birth anniversary.

DISCLAIMER: All Images Used In This Post Have Their Respective Copyrights

Hanging On

Padatik Kobi Subhas Mukhopadhyay

Image Courtesy: Anandabazar Patrika


Grass is sprouting on my bones
All is not well with the spine.
As I attempt to board a crowded bus
The spine pulls me down.
My grip loosens.

Like the last drop of rain etched
on the telegraph pole,
I dither
I struggle to turn my head
and look backwards

I still remember what my elders
taught me when I was young:
Never alight from a moving bus
while looking backwards.

My comrades, who wanted to change the world
Were in such a hurry
That now they have changed themselves instead.

I still balance myself on the foot of the bus.
Even when my grip loosens, I praise my luck,
I am still unable
to look backwards.


Today is the birth anniversary of ‘Padatik Kobi’ Subhas Mukhopadhyay. This is a translation of his poem ‘Jhulte Jhulte’. My small tribute to the great poet. 

DISCLAIMER: All Images Used In This Post Have Their Respective Copyrights

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