How dark it is!
Bengal droops,unable to risse up
Caught in a spell of silence
even birds do not sit on the trees,
the rivers are full of grief and
On the barren earth only mushrooms grow .
But for them there is no green to be seen any where.
I can't understand what made Rabindranath nurse
the absurd desire to be reborn in bengali as a tree.
There are no trees, no rivers
only flowerless time flows on.
there is no rebirth any more
all, all are against being born.
Listen, Rabindranath.
if I now planted all your poetry
and watered them day and nightn,
no tree would ever come up, Iam absolutely certain of it.
Your Bangladesh, dear Tagore,has become so unproductive.
Only faithless wind blows,
and there is no fruitful associaion of words.
On the silent rainless twentyfifth of Baishakh
only a bird or two still on the branch of banyan tree
and timidly talk in the voice of music.
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