Posted by: Ron DuBour | December 10, 2016

Concluded~by Ziauddin Bulbul




(Original by the greatest personality of Bengali poetry late
Sudhindranath Dutta
Translation attempted by me)

If today the brutal legion of spring
ruin up that rock hooded mythical canards
inside your unprotected heart;
The galactic lust’s
infatuating smell blooming in the essence of lilacs
searching the unseen hole, if come out with high velocity
to the tomb of grief stricken necropolis;
Into the deepest night
brings if the cyclonic wind
indelibly utopic haughty suasion
before the gate of loyalist’s abstention;
If your incapable physique with the weight of aimless passion
bows to the feet of first moon-curser,
then let it be seethed; in the manacles of artificial revere
don’t allow your generosity to become toxic
alike to displaced beliefs, absorbed in the hemlock choleric.

(To be Continued)

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