I was born in the festive of mankind
It may be in ritual, or in religious gathering
May be in hottest Baishakh’s sunshine,
On lip of peasant-bride’s soil culture hoe,
My birth shiver’s on carnivals of man’s ceremony.
My birth is in the shade of cane groove
In twinkling night of firefly in choirs of cricket insects
May be in heavy rain of pregnant clouds
In pattering rains, in her rhythmic jingles of anklets
At flood floating paths, at sinking golden corn plants
I was born in jolly harvest feast of Agrahayan.
I was born in curly turnings of Padma, Jamuna, Meghna
I take birth on sandy fields in every dew season
I frequently took birth at wedding rite of river daughters
River-mother learnt my birth style in course of birth.
I was born on shaddock branch in nest of magpie robin
In maiden’s coloring lips drawn in unskilled hand
I was born when rose open eyes, in cuckoo’s spring
My birth
Sown a surprising harvest on the immortal soil.
