There are so many faces all around; the trumpet blows,

devotees worship Goddess Durga by waving of lights

in front of Her on this ninth lunar night of

the second month of the early autumn.

This makes it clear this festive mood is about to end

with this ending night, as the long session of ten days

would have its last charm tomorrow- yes, last that would recur

every year- bidding farewell to the Goddess with

the conch shell, the sounding board of metal,

and the pot filled up with Holy water.

The radiance of the lamp with five basins

has somehow wiped out the endmost darkness in my heart,

as if some unheard melody cries out that

the splinter is now weary- it no more wishes to

attuning to any new music this lonely evening.

Something is missing though in the midst of the crowds,

merry-making, sounds, and voice; I tried to recognize,

but, alas, all the faces are unknown to me!

People are making fun

with snacks, nuts, and merry-go-round in the big fair.

Yes, people have gathered here in glaring attires,

though all is masked. I recognize, but, ah, all in vain,

yet, the tiring and ceaseless journey looks for someone!

But, I don’t know if this would find any room.

Sometimes, the heart is tired though the eyes go ahead-

they lodge a missing diary, but in silence.

The diary would remain unregistered,

thus going beyond the worldly timeliness.

None would feel the eyes; nor would anyone go through

the passionate texture. Yet, the search would go on

until the true minds would get united,

all the riddles would dim, and time would bridge the gap

between the known and the unknown,

and the timeliness and the timelessness would go

hand-in-hand with pure love.

The dense cloud would then be set free

and fall as the drops of rains.

That time, devoid of the fear of losing,

would not make the aggrieved heart urge again-

“O, the Bright Ninth Lunar Night of autumn, do not fade away,

instead, stay a few times more!”