I wish to die every day.

The scattered pages stare blankly when I 

wake up in the morning—

What can I write in them?

His words come to our mouths,

The one that pulls us closer —

Poetry's polygamous now.

I wish to die every day.

Poets in naked waiting at the banquet.

Lavish meal on the plates of poetry.

I want to die every day.

I will be at peace then. Because only you know

how easy it is to tell a fib about a dead man!

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A/N: This is one of the poems by Indian poet Srijato Bandyopadhyay, famously known as Srijato. I have no idea which poetry collection this (original) poem belongs to. I found it somewhere and felt so close that I had this deep urge to translate it. 

P.S.- The original poem had no title. The title of the translated poem does not belong to the poet (I chose it for the sake of giving it some title)

I guess a vote's in order for the poet's amazing work! :)