Translation from Bangla by Sonia Amin
1
A bird springs from the shirt—at the magicians touch
From the hair gold coins minted in Akbar’s reign.
The crowd watches hushed : the marketgoers throng
As the magician extracts coin after coin.
You have released the bird of passion from those eyes
The full moon of love from that heart—
You are spellbound yourself ? — You want to leave
Something, someone holds you back.
She who does not care a fig for your fee
Plays her own tricks for the pleasure of the game.
Conjuring a bird, sets it free and does not call it back again.
Coins of gold roll in the dust at her feet.
This is indeed deep magic, for the master of the art
Is one who unfurls coloured kerchiefs deep within the heart.
2
What do you seek in that dark chest all day?
Why do you watch the bird circle among the clouds?
The path is straight — but you stumble and fall,
Why have you deserted your home to wander on the edge of the wild?
And why hasn’t this marketplace, your heart beguiled?
You roam the wastelands; though your yard is shaded with trees
There — on the bed of death, the cadavers sleep,
Startled by the woodbird from the silent forest
Did you drop the silver plate from your hand?
That clang must have cast an awesome spell, for you wander like one possessed.
And is that why like the wound of an axe on an olive tree
The sign of divorce is stamped on your back?
Is there no tree with branches on which woodnymphs do not wait?
Is there no river on whose breast no golden boats navigate?
3
Tell me, what cup did you sip from
That your lips are blue and your limbs numb?
Yet from this sickness you do not wish to recover, do you?
I long to know what leaf the juice was gathered from.
The betel leaf-shaped liked the human heart?
Or the mango-shaped like tender lips?
Or the banyan, fashioned like a face?
Mulberry, bitter Neem or hemlock?
I have travelled to the ends of the earth
Into nooks and corners deep into the wild,
Countless leaves have I turned over and plucked, to taste
But that secret plant I failed to find.
Then, are you the unknown tree in my universe
Tainting me with a sickness without cure—an endless curse.
4
Whose counsel should I seek—he scorns me night and day
Hurls harsh words, shuns me in bed, turns his face away,
Sows other fields with seeds from this house.
To think! I was once his only thought.
I dwelt inside his sleep, a heron in the sky of his dreams.
I dwelt inside the green fields of his heart, where pipers piped.
Now, only dry leaves rustle on the ground
And life is a field full of mounds left by mice.
How people change—the full moon wanes into moonless nights!
The golden boat cracks on the dune under the summer sun.
The wasteland gapes all around,
Where the caravan pitched tents for the carnival of life.
So this is man—the charm
Of gold coins palls once they are within his palm.
5
When I go to the station I see, night and day,
The trains bound for your hometown
Stop for a moment and rush off.
Countless people on countless errands
Take off to who knows where and return again
Should I come? But where to—there is no room there for me,
Should I go?—Everything has changed beyond recognition.
From the hole in my heart I hear a constant wheezing sound—
The birds have flown—the wasteland frowns all around.
Try as I might to lure them back with fancy kalijira grains
They will not feed here anymore.
Now night and day the trains come and go.
I see as I have seen before, the trains
Rushing in and out of my heart’s deep core.
29
He who loves you five times more than I,
I swear, I shall give him the shirt off my back,
I shall give him this pen, the inkpot filled with my blood,
Only one favour I ask
He write a poem better than mine
And magically conjure a silver chain in her palm.
He who loves you ten times more than I,
By the almighty I swear I shall give him this house,
With the yard—and light a fire to warm his winter nights.
Only one favour I ask
That his sleep be deeper than mine
Finding by his side her, who should be there.
Or else, I shall be tough, if the rascal does not leave her alone
Dousing him in the river, wring him dry, skin and bone.
30
Hey you, hussy, Shimul tucked in hair
Where are you headed, among the lads out there?
A man is like a river, see, overflowing at the rim
The waters untamed and dangerously dark.
Stop! Where are you off to now, swaying through the throng?
That flower is crimson, true, but not as red
As there where your womanhood hides its shame.
Ah. let us wait for you to be wedded off
The strongest current subsides then into gentle waves.
One hears the fairy queen herself, bows her head on the haloed night
We shall see how you transgress the verdant hedges of your home
And where you modesty finds refuge.
Pay your debts now, woman, in the currency of love, for what you crushed underfoot
Those rare and precious plants—those golden auspicious roots.
31
Who would wish to get tangled in the weary knots of one’s life?
The lure of the trees, the pull of the poison vine is greater than yours of mine
It thrashes me down and straightens me out again
Among countless children of the motherland
What propels this body, its destiny, who can tell.
Before I know—the road comes to an abrupt end.
Whichever path I set out on—ghosts lurk along the way—
How hostile the land —how strange one’s stay,
But should I for that let go of my grip on the rope?
Or lay down my life in vain?
Or will you call me to you again
And all the other solitary souls,
And mould us into one once more?
This is my final supplication at your door.
32
A dhonesh calls out the moment I step into the silent forest
And the woodcutter’s breast splits into two.
In the blink of an eye you create havoc everywhere.
Set everything on fire with the embers of love
Till it all burns down — this body, my destiny that home
And when all is over, you unfurl the sails
Like arrows they speed to destinations unknown.
Kinder than you, are the waters of the Teesta in high tide.
And yet… I shall call out like the dhonesh again, shall abide.
And seek among homes, harbours, marketplace, forest and road
The precious golden cow
Seeing how swarms of rice-bugs lay waste my harvest
I shall yet sow those fields again
With rare and exquisite grain.
33
Is there no tree where wood-nymphs do not wait?
Is there no river where our shadows are not cast?
Is there no journey where the mythical boat does not sail on the wings of the wind.
Is there no palanquin not guarded by a veil?
Is there no woman whose breast nurtures no love?
Is there no tidings which has no power to heal?
Is there no harvest whose seed the peasant has not sown?
Is there no death where dreams do not die?
Is there a form which the sculptor has not moulded yet?
Is there a gaze which transcends the gaze of the eye?
Is there a tale whose words do not roll in the dust?
Is there an ecstasy beyond that of lips joined in love?
A heart meets a heart when these questions throng
Like playful fish in Jamuna’s waves all day lo
——————
Sonia Amin is an eminent historian and current Chairperson and Professor at the Department of History of University of Dhaka.
