(10 November 1954 - / Kolkata / India)

An Evening Of Rain

An eye had wandered, to another’s beloved, her leg.
When, carelessly, her sari lifted just a little -
Outside, the rain comes down. A lantern’s been lowered underneath the table, in the dark
Now and then the fair lustre of a hidden foot drifts up...

The fault is not in the eye. There was no choice but to look.
Wasn’t there? Why? -- Rainspray rushes in noisily
Wasn’t there? Why? -- Flowering bushes leap on barbed wire
Wasn’t there? Why? -- From the one who has no right
Everything is concealed by a fringe of embroidered lace...

Now the rain has stopped. Now she too has left the room.
Only, the breeze returns. Only, like the eye of a powerless man
From time to time the lantern beneath the table trembles.

[Translated from 'Ekti Brishtir Sandhya' (Bengali) by Oindrila Mukherjee]

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