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Basudeb describes the agony of winter rain, in this verse, exclusively for Different Truths.
No point in romanticising incessant rain ,
No pleasure in it, only a wait for none in vain.
Poets all over the world,
Chant only its music and the warmth of cold.
The rainy season deactivates my heart’s tune,
The drizzling confines me within the four walls,
No spark except doodling under the quilt,
Only rain drop sound on the roof top.
The sound of rain is irritable,
Its sound with no modulation is unavoidable,
Only the song of Crickets and mournful gnats,
The densely fogged trees having hanging brats .
The black cloud in the low sky,
The epitome of suffocated melancholy,
Shrinks everyone into a tortoise tiny ,
Man becomes servile, lifeless and lazy.
Amidst this deepening tharaldom,
Joy of a rainbow drives away my boredom ,
Rainy days will pass away with a month or two,
Autumn’s footstep tickles me and it is not far too.
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