Under The Old Banyan Tree I Will Let You Hear The Flute Of The Grazier Poem by Soumen Chattopadhyay

Umpteen words of life reach the exile, crossing the river of life. At
midnight, I can hear the sound of their steps and reverberation. Their
wayfaring dust and sand touch me. Through the water, inarticulate words
of cry touch the heart. Many non-attainments stand in seclusion and
I'll stand at the mound of pleasing moments. I'm looking at the navel—
the history of mother's womb Burns me.

The sky above the head is overcast with clouds— the surge of blood,
for how many days! For long, I'm walking beside my shadow— in the
river of night, I float away, ceaselessly, now you come at the moment of
sunrise— there's my village at the end of this empty road— now come
under the long Shaal trees — to get you, many lilies of the pond have
spread their petals— in the ripples of procession, the flow of the darkness
of our miseries will be wiped out. After the procession breaks, the echo
gets doubled— bloodshed gets stopped — the intense desire of getting
you runs through my veins, I will nestle again with the virgin world—
in the land of scarlet Palash, in the jungle of Mahua, I'll scatter seeds
with the help of your indulgence— occupy me with the undivided attention
of the whole— wake up with bright chants, bring the wonder evening—
under the old banyan tree, I will let you hear the flute of the Grazier.