Shillong at Eventide | Navakanta Barua (trans.)

The somber even descends
The perturbed alarm of a weary clerk’s libido
In the eyes of the township
A nurse’s infirm inertness from sleeplessness;
In the interstices of the naked upright pines
There’s no sun; the sun’s sensation.
Senseless scribbling by clouds
Of a dusky blue sky?
The maze of Laban’s zig-zag paths?
The colour of the fog wipes them off
With betel-spittle and smoke and whistling sounds
This Shillong at eventide mocks herself.

The lens-sharp eyes of a foreign diseased chantress.
In an illumed chamber of Hotel Pinewood
Brim with dreams………..
A fur-coat of Kashmiri wool
Covers the gestures of a Saree
Round a brittle frame;
The mind however is on a fast
So are the memories of the plains……
(The Khasi belles break the hills’ slumber
Strawberry-smiles in their eyes glitter
No colour in the skies
No poetry in affinity
The fog wipes off the rainbow
At eventide, Shillong,
with the cramped broiling eyes
Of a circus-tigress,
Impales the heart!