Ananda Bhairavi
Today the frame hangs akew in that room
It was not like this at the end of a day of rain
The garden was filled with rain bruised bloom
Ananda Bhairavi.
Today the cowherd no longer comes to the field
Nor strains of flute rise about banyan trunk
The rain still erupts, ploughing clouds
with furrows of lightning.
Did he not know that this is how calamity
pounces upon the red cock's comb?
Did he not know it is a waste of heart
miserly gift from the unused hand?
Did he not know that the fanfare of the city
far exceeds the size of this heart?
Did he not know, how much I know him
from fingertips to distant sea?
Today the frame hangs akew in that room
It was not like this at the end of a day of rain
The garden was filled with rain bruised bloom
Ananda Bhairavi.
Shakti Chattopadhyay
(Translation, mine)
