The dying sun of autumn
Is neither dim nor despondent
Everything is fine.
The harvested fields bedewed
No beast grazes for grasses green
Their eyes keen by an acquisitive urge
Packs of ravenous wolves
Prowl around our bountiful barns
Our daughters caress no pet but themselves
Nor our sons abandon themselves in play
They navigate the turbid waters of our time.
The only love that gave us peace
Is now loud and lures many
None would seek something
Beyond the bounds of this beautiful body
Here everything money can buy.
The owl doesn't curse the old moon
To catch its prey
The lemmings themselves are dying
Their carrions spreading death
Even amongst the carrion-eaters
None has any time
To listen to the distant call of a kite
Nor would anyone repine
The death of those dreamy eyes
In the deepening gloom of night
Death itself holds no promise of bliss -
The kiss of a peaceful sleep
The dream of another life
In the land of our birth for one more time.
*A modern Bengali poet.