The Patch of Blooming Mustards

By Chandrakumar Agarwala

Yoking me the oil-press of life
What fun do you make of me?
Whirling in the drudging rounds
I’ve fallen into an awful illusion.
To what end is this pressing
Of mustards in such measure?
The oilman will press to supply the world:
Why am I enmeshed in?
Let me free I’ll return to watch
The patch of mustards in bloom,
That—full of butterfly wings—
Has kept me entranced still
Since those dream-like days
Of my childhood.

Translated by Uttam Duorah

Chandrakumar Agarwala (b.1867-d.1938)) was a notable Assamese poet and journalist.

Uttam Duorah, the translator, retired as the HoD, English, Women’s College, Tinsukia and is based in Tinsukia, Assam.

Click here to read the original Assamese poem.

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