POEM

When you tell the flower  
to remain in bloom until you return,  
I will weep then for the first time,  
and the flower trembling in the spring breeze  
will wilt in the sun like a memory in blossom.  

The second weeping will take place  
with the corpse of the day's end,  
waiting for your return when the stricken flower  
would see the evening come in.  

Then perhaps, in the dark, the flower  
would quietly come down from the tree  
and be lost strangely somewhere.  

I will weep for the last time  
when in the blackest darkness  
you will not return.  
  

Translation :
Jayanta Mahapatra