The naked boy now wears a shroud
In the pre-dawn darkness when the coffin bearers
Are not awake with the dead
And all the dear words are fast asleep
When the north wind in the heart of the dew
Sees the image of darkness
At the end of the night
They took away the boy.
One slipper left by the doorway
A side of the mosquito-curtain rolled up
The intoxicating warmth of the red-cloth'd quilt
The night beckons the barebacked and
Tying the knot at the waist
The boy went away.
He left behind
Some tattered dreams
Some blooming maiden, a patch of cropland
Mother's own 'bhapa pitha'
The clinking of silver rattle etc etc.
He wanted to touch happiness
But knew not when he wore street clothes
Maybe his fingers have writ some nonsense
Now
It rained for a while
Scattering the krishnachura on the roads
The boy wore the shroud at the end.
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