Winter, Cold and Graceful | Bhaben Barua | trans. Emdad Ullah

There’s a silent grace mathematical,in each and every bone,
Like smiles unembodied ,in each and every cell,
The ultimate that has no colour,no sound,no taste or smell.
The far-off nebula all empty, empty, empty
Only the blind restlessness of matter through millions of light years;
Where only heaps of matter way, straight, bent, zigzag, prolonged, angular, rounded….

Blind restlessness!
Upon the peak of the non-living,the first flash of
Joy of the ‘Palash’-
The commotion of blood-red lives,
The blood-red voice of seeds in the sun’s abode.

Blind restlessness:
Flowers and fruits on the tip of brush-
Filled with ambrosia,
Blood-red smiles rise all over the body,
The moving passion of youth ,its muscular enterprise

O’erflowing the banks-
Blind restlessness?
There’s a silent grass mathematical,
The unembodied smiles of matter-
In our songs too?