As a moon’s serpent | Hiren Bhattacharyya

A moon’s serpent slowly creeps upstream
Thoughts become boats and shuttle between the banks

On the nights of listening to tales
You’d swelled up as Champavati

‘I swear I haven’t trodden upon anyone’s shadow
Without beholding you I haven’t beheld the new moon’s face
I’ve emerged just after touching the brimming pitcher
Look here how my hands stay wet––’

I too haven’t turned into Ravana
I haven’t gaped at the fisherwomen without you among them
I haven’t been angling at all

‘After seeing you in dreams I sleep with my pillow overturned
On the Buddha Purnima I secretly plucked white-rose petals
And tucked them under the pillow.’

I’ll turn into a bird and devour
The three tufts of paddy left by you
Perched on your roof-top
I’ll coo as a dove
Arrive as a crow to finish
The fistful of rice-grains at the centre
As a flute’s sound
I’ll call you near the river
Remain hanging as the Sonaru-blooms

As a moon’s serpent I’ll creep up
To your tender bosom

I’ll turn into a bird and devour
The three tufts of paddy left by you
As a moon’s serpent creep up to the river
Brimming with the Sonaru’s yellow

 

Hiren Bhattacharyya  (28 July 1932 – 4 July 2012) was one of the best known poets working in the Assamese language. He had innumerable works published in Assamese and achieved many prizes and accolades for his poetry. He is known as Hiruda among his fans.