Silt

The fire of the palaash has gone out now. In the saal and sotiyaan woods Spring-storms of days past — Days of the Burmese invasion. How many dreams fell who keeps count? On the Banks of the Kolong, Kopili, Diju Grandfather’s bones. The wild lily sprouts through Grandmother’s heart. What did the clouds say, Give, give more, give your all, Plant trees by the road, open a high school, The dear traveler is always on the road, Heave a sigh Let the water speeding through roofs Flood out the cells of dead spiders Let our silt fertilize the banks of the Kolong. In the furrows of our grandson’s new farmstead We shall wake. In our fossils they will read Amusing tales of those who remember past births. In the lane where dreams are blind we stay there. In the gutters their future. [ Translated by Pradip Acharya ]