(17 February 1899 – 22 October 1954 / Barisal / Bangladesh)

We Both Are Here, Again

We both are here, again,
in memory of sound bird’s river of light.
Thought we both are
Egyptian mummies.
Slumbering from morn to evening.
Sporting ourselves as a morning breeze,
swaying clusters of green leaves,
or becoming a twig of emblica, sal,
or even turning into silver hued falling rain,
pretending to be all of the above—
just you and me.

We died so many times over and over again
in many cities, bazaars, waterways,
amidst blood, fire, blurred decadence,
in the darkness of inauspicious moment.
Even then, we pined for light, courage, and life.
We cherished these in our heart
and be history-bound.

Our nest, we built somewhere.
It shattered into pieces and we cried.
On froth of the ocean, we giggled.
We loved our life.
Light—more light passed away!

If men depart today,
humankind will remain here,
curdled dewdrops will become
in the parlance of history, the capital
of man and woman.

[Original: Dhoni Pakhir Alo Nodi (Bengali), Translator: A.H. Jaffor Ullah]
This poem appears in the ungrouped (Ogronthito Kobita) poem section

User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 1 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.