Nobody tells me to search for you as if there’s a timeframe for undertaking such quests! My voice sounds like yours, and often, looking at my arms, I get puzzled,
I forbade the clouds to sprawl around this flood plain- the clouds unendingly somersault around my windowpane at the beckoning of drooping hillocks though.
I’m telling you amidst the whispering cropped-headed paddy field, in the lore of these reeds, in the orchestra of these auburn after-harvest field by the seedlings that crack this soil-- I am their spokesperson.
Look at these tantalising equations of life-
Baishakh is yet to show up,
Like it or not, the sun has all these rising points,
In his lips was written submission. His moon shaped beard neatly combed,
She wished to become a light mist