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I am Misti-- didn't get it?
Misti (sweetness) is my name,
My grandmother gave me that
Honor, I'm too grateful.
I'm going to be 8 months
This November soon,
My limbs are
Not properly working now,
As a little bird fears to fly
Into the sky, below the mountain,
I am quite like that: I can't
Hold my legs stuck to ground.
My voice is like the groaning
Of the cloud you can hear but
Not to decode the meaning.
I want to speak with definite
Sense but my tongue
Slips, it reminds my age:
I'm very delighted for having
Such a temple where mom, dad,
Grandfather, grandmother and uncles
(Me too) all together.
O, grandfather! I'm too little to climb
On your shoulder, I want to take
Repose there.
But don't worry grandpa, very soon
I'll grow up & I'll be there.
When I'll complete my two years,
Promise me: you'd be my horse &
I'll take a ride on you.
Thinking so, much pleasure I'm
Feeling with supreme verve:
But I can't make my words' way.
Dear grandpa, when I grow up,
I'll go to the field to feed you:
The cool rice with water, onion,
Green chilli and boiled potato
I'll carry all in a pot on my
Little head.
When you consume the food,
I'll be busy catching the grasshoppers then, how glad I'd be!
I know you are all worried
About my unskilled thinking,
Of course, that should be!
But you all have forgotten one thing:
I'm the MUSE of my dearest uncle!
Image © Ujjal Mandal |
