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A Canticle

Like darkness descends an old raven
A fog obscures both banks
of the girl's eyes
Ah what a prolonged sleep

A red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
September nineteenth a flimsy telegram
Ah what a prolonged sleep

The storm dies down
on the tired mast
The storm uncoils
its eight tentacles

And a huge dance-hall looms into sight
And a red-eyed pigeon on the cornice sits
what’s the news now
Ah what a prolonged sleep

The storm dies down
on the dream book of Jung
The storm drops dead
from anaemia

But who will make that girl understand but this
There’s little profit in searching for the one
That is by now wood-dead from fasting an Adam’s lifetime
Ah what a prolonged sleep
Ah what a prolonged sleep

(Translated from Bangla by the poet)

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