Issue: Vol. V, No. 2, August-October, 2026
Probably a love poem
My sky is tiny
Yours vast—the wings, too, are freshly grown.
In one corner of your vastness lies my place,
A little cloud to hide my body.
There ends the restlessness
There is no end to the thinking
after wanting to say something
The nights too are long—
So, I pass them with a wavering mind
When I wake,
you’ve already begun to fly
That’s how it should be—
even this waiting has a name
there’s some truth in it,
and a part of sorrow too
That too is happiness
I change myself like changing a bedsheet
and become natural—
perhaps too natural
The way a car stays carefully in a garage,
but that’s not its real place—
Ha ha!
My garage isn’t even covered
You fly when you rest,
and also when you truly fly
Even this ease has a name—
Hey the respected, beloved public
You
you live only in the waiting to not exist
What once was
has slipped through the fist
Your company means
the death of my void
and the death of my void means
the raving of your simplicity
Translated by Jyotirmoy Talukdar
Kaushik Baiswas is presently working as a Senior Resident in the Department of Radiation Oncology, AMCH. He has two Assamese poetry collections to his credit, namely Babari Bilas and Ei Batahkhinikei Dilo.
Jyotirmoy Talukdar works as a Senior Writing Fellow at Ashoka University, New Delhi.