a few dew drops on the pale withered leaf
are startling in fear of the peering Sun.
Yet, this morn as a mother expectant
is blushing crimson ,- dreaming of a new-born.
This off-spring of moisture alone,- I see
not convinced by assurance of golden day
suspicious like the people, frustrated , -displaced
are dazed with panic, - finding no way
to survive , on that sere moribund leaf.
Apprehending their desiccated Death,, any time
under the triumphant Archway of crimson Sun
Lord, how they srink a-trembling
these dew-drops stranded !
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Translated from Bengali poem (1960s) of Phani Basu by Umanath Bhttacharya in 1980)
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