Beyond Land and Time

Wintry Nights

(Shit-rāt)

Translated by Asif Chowdhury

In wintry nights like these, death embraces my heart;

Outside, perhaps dew is falling, or may be it is the leaves,

or it could as well be the owl’s song; that too is like the dew, and yellow leaves.

A growling lion is heard in the distant estuary of cities and villages—

the roars of an aggrieved circus lion.

And here the cuckoo picks up a song—in a Poush midnight;

Why, is it because spring will come some day?

Or is it an elegy for a long gone spring?

So you are not a dozing cuckoo? I have seen countless cuckoos—conceding to lethargy, they are not boys,

not adolescent girls any more;

The cuckoo’s song has been used up.

The lion keeps on roaring;

the aggrieved circus lion,

such a lethargic lion—addicted to opium—blind—blinding darkness.

As I try to reflect on life—surrounded by obscure oceans,

everything gets lost in the moss of a dead fish’s tail, in dark water, in the fog’s rib-cage.

The lion will not have the jungle again

never again

never again.

The voice of the cuckoo

—worn out like an exhausted engine,

will remain silent amongst the magnet hills.

O Earth,

O the magical noose of Bipasha,—

go to sleep,

you will not embrace anyone ever again.