I wish to die every day.
The scattered pages stare blankly when I
wake up in the morning—
What can I write in them?
His words come to our mouths,
The one that pulls us closer —
Poetry's polygamous now.
I wish to die every day.
Poets in naked waiting at the banquet.
Lavish meal on the plates of poetry.
I want to die every day.
I will be at peace then. Because only you know
how easy it is to tell a fib about a dead man!
———————————————
A/N: This is one of the poems by Indian poet Srijato Bandyopadhyay, famously known as Srijato. I have no idea which poetry collection this (original) poem belongs to. I found it somewhere and felt so close that I had this deep urge to translate it.
P.S.- The original poem had no title. The title of the translated poem does not belong to the poet (I chose it for the sake of giving it some title)
I guess a vote's in order for the poet's amazing work! :)
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
