At the end of all the days, dusk comes like the sound of dew;
The kite wipes off the scent of sunlight from its wings.
The earth’s colours all quenched, the manuscript prepares
To tell its stories, lit by firefly gleams.
All the birds come home, all the rivers - all life’s trade ends.
Only the dark abides; and, to sit face to face, Banalata Sen.
(Chaudhuri 1998)
Possibly the only lines that could emote the feelings today. Though sadly, the best is lost in translation.
The kite wipes off the scent of sunlight from its wings.
The earth’s colours all quenched, the manuscript prepares
To tell its stories, lit by firefly gleams.
All the birds come home, all the rivers - all life’s trade ends.
Only the dark abides; and, to sit face to face, Banalata Sen.
(Chaudhuri 1998)
Possibly the only lines that could emote the feelings today. Though sadly, the best is lost in translation.
