At the start of every crash May feel the buzz of a prophet.
With the shoulder that droops, Brickyard in the side, Smell of hearth, head and ears And the letting go of night...
At the sloping road of the camp, With the drill and call being over, The migrant, getting wet in the rain, The soft clay still gets the stir of war!
The end of the ruin! — No prophet — never be. With deep fever, And from the acute pangs of a groaning frame, The shawl being cleared away crops up the lover.
Then he opens the window with gentle touch!
The temporal
Oh! flow temporal! Momentary flux! Tied to the creed and cramp of the cult, Being the mass of water — great, intense With life at death's door Or, to say Where agony took the leave, Watching the bleak, crude stupor.
The quick flow takes off the stake, kills the bar, Being the only haunt with blitheness! Dear you! Some drift the gross subjection, Coated in the tinged plastic, Some do dart at the galaxy, or where the flow starts the course.
The feathers and the flock have hinted at over and again With the unknown heartbeat, The old, too old face-quicksand!
Oh, Flux of the time being! Appeal to you! When it comes in the vein of the food - devourer, -- Then, only then, gleams the text of body and the parts. And out of fright, gasping terror, not sparing an inch, Lulling the thought of the great mistake, That may bring forth the fetter once.
Translated by Nilanjan Majumder
Amrita Bhattacharyya is a bi-lingual poet and a writer. She is presently working as an Assistant Professor at Amity Institute of English Studies and Research, Amity University Kolkata. She is the author of seven collections of poems, a collection of short stories and two novels written in Bengali. Her writings have been published from Poetry Out Loud (London), Pynecone Review (Austria), Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), Indian Writers’ Forum, Anandabazar Patrika, Ajkal patrika, Desh (Ananda Publishers), Nabokollol Magazine and in various renowned magazines and journals in India and abroad