(Dedicated to the countless women killed on the suspicion of being witches)
Breaking the earth sprouts
That burning body
In the air, hangs a screech
Slowly, it fades into thousand screams
A flickering blue fire
Floats in the air
Draws fresh wounds in the
Hearts of men
The trees of the night recognise the darkness
The people of the night find
The terrified face of the woman
Without magic, without malice
When will death come?
When will death come?
Death comes when a poisoned
Arrow pierces the jackfruit leaf
Days become Past
The weeping of the relatives float in the forest
Unknowable, in the fields unharnessed
In the sand islets on the river
In the tiny hutments ablaze in fire
Breaking the earth sprouts
That burning body
In the air hangs a screech
From faraway
I am telling you
Today is the witch’s death anniversary
(Original Assamese poem translated to English by Mr. Dibyajyoti Sarma)