Returning Poem by polash datta

Everyday I contemplate to go to village in that way. Concealing our feet,
forwards water. Each and every time need money to go to village. who to provide?
And where to stay in village? The village I mean to go
none is familiar there. Who will feed me?
At best two or three days. Subsequently mint also calls on the other hand
says come back come back. Otherwise your rice-factory
is to be closed
But shouldn’t I eat rice? I’m not a bird so that
I can flee to village if town is chasing like winter.
People of town won’t make me free by killing in trap. I’m not a bird so that
someone will get money killing me, and I’ll die beautiful.
No one is to be hurt in my death
No one is to put hands in hand to make me live.
I’m a human. I don’t have right to fight for death

As I understand our own language
once again in every morning
I have to bear the stack of living. At who’s certain weak moment
I took birth, and I became human just after; not like animal
I need money if to live. I need money if to eat

My food couldn’t be found in forest

I would just think of village, sitting in town, that’s left. Would think
rainy season leaving me, everyone is forwarded leg-swallowed water
Then would fly this end to that of town in drudgery of money.
As if the wind blowing this flower spike to that of grain;
Siren reaching to the ear of tea-garden; as if telling laborers
the life rule need money if to live, also to eat

But green flower spike of grain don’t know I don’t cultivate her today
Wind doesn’t know I live far away from village. It mistakes.
The wind that touched me saunters in every village everyday

But I ought to become slave of town to live

Yet I deceit. Loitering in drudgery to live everyday:
Once in that way
sometime or other
contemplate to go to village.