Spring Poem by Bhaben Barua
Spring
He keeps humming
on the moments of the midday--
hung out on the clothes-lines.
In his bosom
is an expanse of grass--
his hummings keep it vibrating.
In his fingers
are the flames of a green fire :
they come floating on his hummings.
Far and far off
treading on the flutes--
in the winds he stays.
Further and further
He goes trembling--
humming and humming.
[Translated by Lalit Saikia]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/2/2024 2:03:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
