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