Postman in the autumn woods
(হেমন্তের অরণ্যে আমি পোস্টম্যান)

Many a postman have I seen wander in these autumn woods
Their yellow sacks bloated, like goats overfed
Picking up letters from ages past, old, and new,
                           those men in the autumn woods,

I see them, silent, like ancient cranes picking on fish
                           an impossible enigma thrums the air
                                not quite like the postmen of our times
                                not quite the hands that lose
                                    our relentless letters of undying love

We keep moving away from each other
We keep moving away from each other, in the lure of letters,
We keep getting letters from afar
We'll head far from you tomorrow,
                           and make sure we send you letters full of our love

And thus we sail further from those like us
And thus we showcase our degenerate weakness
                           in decadent wishes

We do not see ourselves in the mirror any more
Alone on an afternoon balcony, we float away
                           naked in a sea of material moonlight
Long have we not hugged each other
Long have we not felt the play of lips and tongue
Long have we not heard the song of man
Long have we not seen a baby babble
We float, into ever more ancient forests
Where the eternal leaves its mark on stone
Into an otherworldly exile—
Many a postman have I seen wander in these autumn woods
Their yellow sacks bloated, like goats overfed
Picking up letters from ages past, old, and new,
                           those men in the autumn woods,

I have only seen a letter grow further apart from another
Never have I seen the trees do so.

Illustrated by Ananya Das.