wouldn't you call it a poem, really?
water, is it?
or a paper napkin? an envelope? is that what it's called?
something that flies away easily
in the summer evening breeze by the lake
ah there it goes... across the street, there it flies
so you get everything published?
the kid comes up to me and asks -
so where are the poems to fly away?
translated from joy goswami's 'shalpata' (part of the series 'prem aar mrityur kobita').
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