An Afternoon

I remember that afternoon.

The rain seemed to be tiring off intermittently;
the wild wind was waking it up yet again.

It was all darkness:
I did not want to work.
I took the instrument,
And the tune of the rains flew out of it.

She came to the door, and went again.
Then, came out to the balcony.
Then, slowly, came to the room and sat down in silence.
Kept knitting.
Then, stopped knitting and looked out of the window to the faded trees.

The rain stopped, my music stopped.
She went to do her hair.

Nothing else: An afternoon of rains, music, darkness and silence.

History is full of stories of kings and wars, dime a dozen.

But, this afternoon, this frozen moment, would remain hidden in Time's chest like a rare treasure;
Just two people will ever know of it.

(Translated from Bengali, a poem by Rabindranath Tagore)


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