HRUSHIKESH MALLICK
AUTUMN
Suddenly she appears before you
in a white sari
and with a basket of jasmines
in her hands.
Her reflection ripples
on the mirror of tear, or sweat.
What do these patches
of dead clouds remind us,
excepting the ruins
of all the hopes and dreams?
The wound yet to heal,
the ache yet to go;
the peeping moon, althrough.
The field is rich with paddy,
the papers are full of plans,
the creepers at the hedges,
the river water getting less muddy
and this is the time
one feels lonely, orphan-like,
althrough the day and night.
Kashatandi flowers grow red
yet the stain on the hand
of the assasin does not go away;
the sun is about to set
yet there is no sign of return
of the bird that has flown away
Here, the notebook of my daughter
is fragrant with the fresh shefali flowers;
there, under the ground,
smoulders the intrigue of a bomb-blast.
The dark outline of the village
looks bright with the circus light,
the peasant is engrossed
in cleaning his old clothes,
and glittering the eyes of Mandela
blessing Mother Teresa a long life
comes autumn,
Yes, autumn after autumn.
Translation :
Rabindra K Swain
 |