Steps. Shanito.

Pain,

at its worst,

is but

a bunch of wild lilies.

At its best

all the stars that shine.

In between,

a banshee sits:

cold, green, dreamlike,

and strangely silent –

like serene mother-nights:

Pale,

yet stately in her death-lit-glow...

And there’s clover in her breath.

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dui dhoron-er aagun hoy:

anonder ar dukkher.

prothom-Ta diye shokol-er shathey

dabanol-er mawto dau-dau korey jWoltey hoy.

dWitiyo-Ta niye prodiip-er sholtey-r mawto

ekanto nijoshWo bhabey nihshWo hoye jetey hoy.

du-To-i bhitor-e thake.

theke jaye

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