সৌরভ ভট্টাচার্য
5 April 2017
Some untold words,a lightyear distance can build.
Wrong sounds repeatedly shake the culvert,
and rob my speech,in halfway field.
I make one quiet,cries unwords beneath.
The mists would be lifted after along.
I console myself with the cause,
both the time & words were wrong.
Yet the analysis tricks in mind !
What I love is wrong so far.
Lying them on the bed in dark,
I come out, keep the door ajar.
As the parlour rooms that shine ;
bed chamber is always mine.
If mistake forecasts by chance,
utters aloofness in disguise.
In hidden fear with a sigh I roar -
" who the bastards they are ? "
my bosom is filled with familiar cries.
Translated By: Debajyoti Dasgupta
মূল কবিতাঃ ভুল শব্দেরা