By Subrata Mukherjee
In love with Golapi, Subratagolapi.
High on top, on a twig, bent backward,
Resting a bird in a mind, vacant in all forms.
With her eyes glued to the fore where the heaven in azure, touches the shore!
The bird on top, away from the crowd with a vow, keeping her words to the lore!
All are going to the world unknown, slow but sure!
The bird sitting on the top, knows what we all forget to believe!
As we have come here but have to go to the world there!
What the lonely bird, on the top of a twig much before, saw in her open eyes!
The New World (Natun Prithibi)