Why do you whisper,
dear Death, my Death?
Why do you come so softly close and stare:
what kind of love is this?
When evening flowers
droop on their tiring stems
When the cows return to their sheds
after walking the field dawn to dusk
You come on those so-gentle feet
and sit demurely at my side.
I don’t understand the things you say
dear Death, my Death.
From Utshorgo, No. 45. First published BE 1309.
Published in Parabaas August, 2010 (22-she Sraban, 1417)
Translated by Prasenjit Gupta.