Long I have been a wanderer of this world, Many a night, My route lay across the sea of Ceylon somewhat winding to The seas of Malaya. I was in the dim world of Bimbisar and Asok, and further off In the mistiness of Vidarbha. At moments when life was too much a sea of sounds, I had Banalata Sen of Natore (now Bangladesh) and her wisdom. I remember her hair dark as night at Vidisha, Her face an image of Sravasti as the pilot, Undone in the blue milieu of the sea, Never twice saw the earth of grass before him, I have seen her, Banalata Sen of Natore. When day is done, no fall somewhere but of dews Dips into the dusk; the smell of the sun is gone off the Kestrels wings. Light is your wit now, Fanning fireflies that pitch the wide things around. For Banalata Sen of Natore. For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth, From waters round Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas. Much have I wandered. I was there in the gray world of Asoka And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha. I am a weary heart surrounded by lifes frothy ocean. To me she gave a moments peace- Banalata Sen from Natore. Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa, Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman, His rudder broken, far out upon the sea adrift, Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so Through darkness I saw her. Said she, Where have you been so long? And raised her birds-nest-lik e eyes- Banalata Sen from Natore. At days end, like hush of dew Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight from its wings. When earths colors fade and some pale design is sketched, Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story. All birds come home, all rivers, all of this lifes tasks finished. only darkness remains
Posted on: Thu, 28 Aug 2014 16:16:27 +0000
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