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.