By Subrata Mukherjee
In love with Golapi, Subratagolapi.
Your heart bleeds but not red!
As the blow hit you made you fret.
Yet those raging bulls cast no kind,
And the demons cling hard making you blind!
Your head is still and eyes are closed.
Even your children starve in pain and their cry rings in the heaven!
Your land is barren and the dead can’t see the lark.
All dreams of yours are as the bubbles in the dark!
The New World (Natun Prithibi)