Supernatural

I keep alive in Calcutta only because

Lights go on at the corner every evening,

Water comes into the tap at dawn, next door

A freshly washed saffron sari is hung out to dry

Over the balcony railing on the second floor.

How marvelous! Hour by hour

In a corner of the neighbourhood slum

A dog's proclamation rises

Rending the night with a robber's cry.

With what tireless assiduity the black drop

Of a fly annoys the noon by its buzzing!

A line of ants comes every day to gather up

The grains of sugar left over from tea

With expert method. And two yards of sky

At the window, two yards of colour,

Violet, blue, orange, pale and bright,

Present all the twelve months. In the dark

The phosphorus of a thin match stick

Filling the room with soft blue light!

Printed on foreign antique paper

A newly bought book fills my breast

With scent. I hide it quickly, with care,

Like a love letter, away from greedy friends' eyes.

It is not for the daytime. At night I shall slowly

Savour its pages in the lamplight.

And how wonderful! No sooner are six nights gone

Than, crimson with laughter, Sunday comes again,

A floating red buoy, adrift for six days in the sea

After the ship goes down. With this indolent day,

Saturday, though mauled by the hairy paw of livelihood's beast,

Goes whistling home. And, see! Some spectral postman

Brings me square envelopes of light!

Translated from the Bengali by Lila Ray