Before Death
A poem by Jibanananda Das
We who have walked deserted stubble fields on a December evening,
Who have seen over the field’s edge a soft river woman scattering
Her fog flowers-they all are like some village girls of old-
We who have seen in darkness the akanda tree, the dhundul plant
Filled with fireflies, the moon standing quietly at the head of
An already harvested field-she has no yearning for that harvest;
We who have lived in the darkness of a long winter’s night, who have
Heard wings flutter on a thatched roof in captivating night-
The smell of an ancient owl, now lost again in the darkness!
Who have understood the beauty of a winter’s night-wings buoyed up
over
Fields brimming with deep joy, herons calling from aswattha tree
limbs;
We who have understood all this secret magic of life;
We who have seen wild geese escape injury from a hunter’s bullet
And fly away into the horizon’s gentle blue moonlight;
We who have placed a loving hand upon the sheaves of paddy;
