অনাবশ্যক

In Vain

In the lonely kaash woods by the creek

I asked her, "Who might you be?

With your lamp, protected from the wind

Under your cautious drapery?

My home remains unlighted, bleak

I could use your lamp, if you can

Leave it here for me." With a stare

She refuses, for she has a plan,

To float her little lamp in the river

This, I find quite pointless

I notice her lamp slowly drift

Away in the water, in darkness.

Another dusk descends. I stop her

To ask, whether perhaps, tonight

As her home is so brightly lit

She may part with her little lamplight.

She is still for a moment. Dark eyes

Stare at me, as she says

"But this... is for the dark skies

To keep a little corner ablaze."

I stare up at space and I see

How her little lamp burns, pointlessly.

The night of the new moon returns

I make yet another request

To her, as she walks slowly by

Clutching her lamp to her chest.

"My home remains unlit tonight

Give me your light, kind princess!"

In the darkness, she lifts her dark eyes

"This one is a tribute," she says.

A tribute to the autumn fete of lights.

Yet again, I remain a witness

To her light, burning among countless others

In effulgent, vain endlessness.

শেষ খেয়া

The Last Ferry

At the end of day in the land of sleep
The silhouette of that veiled face
Soothes, lulls, makes me forget myself

On the far shore glinting like gold
What illusion plays in the darkness
Sings on distracting me from work

With a bowed head those who depart,
Forsaking all earthly comfort
They go, never to return a glance

Towards them with the pull of tide
I will go deserting my home
Evening arrives, the day departs
O come, come who will carry me
On the last ferry at day end

At eventide, with ebb and tide
From the other shore incessant
Plies forth a ferry or two
Oh how can I tell which of those
Was at my quay in my own land

At sundown, just beneath the banks
Grazing the lap of dense foliage
In shades, like a shadow they go
At my behest, to stop a while
And set sail to row towards me
Where is such an oarsman, such a boat?
O come, come who will carry me
On the last ferry at day’s end

When have gone home those bound homeward
Gone too, those set for shores beyond
Neither at home nor on far shores
One who is somewhere in between
Who will beckon him at twilight

No more flowers left to bloom
No more harvest to reap
Tears have become irony
For whom fades daylight
But lit are not dusk lamps
Waits that one on the banks
Come who will carry me
On the last ferry
At the end of day