Subhash Mukhopadhya 1919-2003
Eclogue
The sun in the fields, I've heard
Weaves golden fantasy,
The moon sees her face
In the mirror of the lake,
The heart dances in mild breeze.
Here I am in a village
Hardly any sign of life there
Starving peasants, no corns
Cunning moneylenders all around.
Everyday on meandering streets
I see hordes of travelers
Feasting in alms
Distant city in their dreams.
It's no use frittering
Your heart in funeral grounds
It's tough to survive, O friend
It's better to hold an axe
Let the foe test its sharpness.
Red Red Day
You're the face of my procession!
The one I've been looking for
all my life.
I discovered the stranger
as I returned, on the lamp
illuminating the entire room.
By day you spurned me
At dusk you called me in
I never got a shade in the scorching sun
The blue sea burnt in that fire
I wipe my eyes--
Are you a dream?
Or an illusion?
Embrace me with your iron arms
Let the frozen tears thaw
Give love its land of nativity.
I prepare the malice-bow.
Days are gone.
Why didn't you show up--
Why did you blow off the world?
In anger, all alone in a gale
the thunder tears up the sky?
Somebody heard us on the horizon
Straddle the seven-coloured steed.
You are light,
I've set out, along the ridges of darkness
To bring the red red day.
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