(Translated by Khademul Islam)
Short T-shirt.
When she raises her two hands over her head you can see her belly-button.
Lips of Benaresi saffron.
Terrific body.
Who was the one who named her—Honeymoon!
She doesn’t walk; dances.
Seems to be—wriggly darting fish!
In the wind a snappy rumba
Right left front back
Turns on all sides in the flick of an eyelash.
The dream of the skinny youth in the development next door
The cupped dream of the skinny youth next door
Setting the city on its ear—Honeymoon!
Amid the smell of burning tires
A three-brick stove, the arc of the flame
No sooner the handful of
Unhusked cooked rice reaches the mouth
Than Kolkata’s footpaths clap and shout out—
Fantastic! Fantastic!
Khademul Islam is editor, Bengal Lights
