In the evening sadness comes and stands by the door, his face <br />Is hidden, from the dying sun he took some colors and painted his body <br />The sadness comes in the evening, <br />I stretched my hand and he caught my wrist, in an iron-hard clasp <br />He caught me out from my room, his face <br />Is black, he is ahead of me and I follow him <br />I crossed from the evening to the night, from the night to the dawn, then the morning, the noon, the day, the month <br />Crossing water, tree, boat, city, hill <br />Crossing blows, stumbling, poison, suspicions, jealousy, graves, genocide, the bones and ribs of civilization, swamp and grass <br />Then crossing my own death, death after death, going on and on <br />The bony fingers holding nothing but a pen <br />Nothing... <br /> <br /> <br />[Translated from 'Sandhyebela daraja dhare dNadaalo bishaad' (Bengali) by Skye Lavin and Joy Goswami]<br /><br />Joy Goswami<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-evening-sadness-comes-2/
