surround its awakening from dream.
The world's river-messenger
that brings the far near,
that brings
to
the door a welcome of the unknown,
has formed my birthday.
Carried by its current always
untethered, my moving nest
floats from bank to bank.
I am an outcast, a nomad.
Many grains of flowing hospitality
over and over fill my birthday bowl.
February
28, 1941
(afternoon)
Translated from the Bengali by Wendy Barker
and Saranindranath Tagore
JUAN CARLOS GALEANO
Kites
Because we lacked paper to make kites, we flew our windows.
The windows with their white aprons told us what they saw.
But the Indians who saw our windows flying had neither house nor windows
to fly, let alone a kite.
It
was only natural that the Indians would want to fly something.
In exchange for rotten fish, the circling vultures let strings be tied
around their necks and served as kites for the Indians.
Translated from the Spanish by Angela Ball
