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 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.
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