Aug 3, 2010

পাগল হইয়া বনে বনে ফিরি

পাগল হইয়া বনে বনে ফিরি  উত্সর্গ / ৭   ['মরীচিকা' (সঞ্চয়িতা)]
 
Mirage

My own sweet smell
Drives me utterly mad
In search of fragrance-source
Like the scented deer
In forests far and near.
In southern breeze in nights of spring
To find no trace anywhere.
Our pining is full of fault
We gain what we yearn not.

My desires appear mirages
Away from my heart
I stretch my hands to catch them
To heart they never come back.
Our pining is full of fault
We gain what we yearn not.

My eager and maddened flute
Strives to entrap my songs.
For songs thus confined
The melodial essence is lost.
Our pining is full of fault
We gain what we yearn not.


Translated by Subrata Majumdar
3 August 2010

Original in Utsarga / 7, 1914 and Marichika (from Sanchayita)

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