By Navakanta Barua

The last man in the procession
Knew not
He was in the front line
Of a new procession

In the last line of my poem
I see the first line
Of a new poem

Till I'm able to begin my final poem
You'll go on penning
My new poems

After your last line
Unknowingly I'll begin
         Your very poems

[Translated by Krishna Dulal Barua]

Click here to read the original Assamese poem.

Navakanta Barua (b.1926-d.2002) was a prominent Assamese poet, novelist and translator.

Krishna Dulal Barua is a prominent translator and writer based in Nagaon, Assam. He received the Katha Award for translation in 2005. He can be reached at kd_barua2008@rediffmail.com

By Durgeswar Sarma

Though the moon rises in the east
It delights all and is dear to everyone;
 The cuckoo and the Indian nightingale 
Sing in different lands
A genius has no country, he belongs everywhere.

(Translated by Ananda Bormudoi)

Click here to read the original Assamese poem.

Durgeswar Sarma (b.1882-d.1961) was an Assamese poet and playwright.

By Jyotiprasad Agarwala

Being a visionary 
Flying among the white clouds
And becoming a butterfly 
Flying from flower to flower 
In the morning and sunset 
I donot want to forget
The stark reality rude,
Neither do I want to forget 
My duty austere.
Away from the earth 
Away from the dust and dirt 
I donot want
To get lost
In dream and delusion.

[Translated by Ananda Bormudoi]

Click here to read the original Assamese poem.

Jyotiprasad Agarwala (b.1903-d.1951) was a noted poet, songwriter, playwright, film maker and freedom fighter of Assam.

By Lakshminath Bezbaroa

A song of sorrow, a sad melody ;
A sigh in distress, rolling tears;
A black line of mourning, desire of the  thirsty;
The heartbreaking sob of a widow.
Happiness as a sudden glint of smile;
Sweet smell emanating from a rose, 
Flash of lightning revealing a moment;
Soothing moonlight and cascading water, 
The soul of the lyre flies and sings;
The flute on the branch softly murmurs, 
Graceful modesty of a woman so sweet, 
The half articulated words of a child divine.
A beautiful maid's face sweating in shyness, 
The jasmine bathed in morning dews.
The unsmelt keteki's golden pollen;
Vrindaban driven mad by Koliya's lyre.
Nature's desire is beauty coloured, 
Poetry is what a poet's imagination conceives.

[Translated by Ananda Bormudoi]

Click here to read the original Assamese poem

Lakshmiath Bezbaroa (b. 1864-d. 1938) was a renowned poet, novelist, playwright and satirist of Assam.