TRANSLATED FROM THE BENGALI BY OWSHNIK GHOSH
Image used for representation
On Move
After that, we walked
without a word, went on walking
from one land to another
from one violence towards other.
The world is like this.
Have to live in this only, I wonder.
Like aerials of banyan our- my- body
is surrounded by plenty experiences
without any possession, without any past.
Then, just before the dawn
bullet fired by the border guard
hits my chest-
before dying, I can’t even decide
on which land will I rest.
2004
Soil
This gandharaj flower bloomed with my adorable touch
these grasses carry memories of my feet
water of Ajay¹ quivered beside me
then left, after nudging my eyes
At noon, the pigeons raised their songs
from my sigh, at the broken pillars
in the corner of that dalan²
after the mahfil³, at this extended field
across the sal woods, new moon
was lying beside me, without moving.
My steps entwined yours, you’re unaware,
never even look back at them
look around, see all bridges are broken
where will I go now if you want me to leave!
The loft glows with the setting sun,
sound of Azan comes from the neighbourhood
sitting in front of my hut
I dream this world is my guest
even now this fiery society
wants to test me
how can I prove today before everyone
that this soil is mine too!
- A river in Bengal.
- A raised structure or a space within the house beside the courtyard specially used for occasions.
- A gathering to celebrate poetry.
2004
Saviour
Do you still believe you can give salvation ?
Who can touch me in this lonesome land of mine?
Lighting the skylight for ancestors
I’ve sown the seeds of the future
above the half burnt hut, beside the swamp
you’ve no place there.
To whom you can give salvation?
Can you give salvation even to yourself?
One day you came with
a fake warrant in your hand
and carried to the edge of destruction
disguised as a friend.
I’m still a new born in this autumn’s frost.
Remember, who you’ve wounded
so easily, have not died yet
some of his blood drops are still alive
at the edge of the grass.
2011
Bastu¹
I haven’t come today to take hold of your house
neither to occupy your land. I am only a guest.
Thinking of to steal a glance, I’ve come
crossing the century to my place.
You’re there, therefore I come and sit
at the edge of the staircase
drink tea in an earthen cup, touch the walls,
I pick some betel nuts drying in the courtyard.
Get up and say : goodbye. You’re there,
after knowing that
everything becomes insignificant,
after knowing that
cavern turns into a palace
after knowing that
I can return easily
There are no dwellings more real than memories.
- Dwellings.
2011
Border
You are across the border- I’m at its edge
in between lies the land without any footsteps
growth of miraculous crops beside that
may some day give fulfilment to our last parting.
Are you still like that, as you kept
floating in broken bubbles of the wind?
That wind blows still through my land
one can hear breathing of your land too.
Escaping the watchman, free loitering
have neither beginning nor any end
you may not know- so I’m writing down
how you’ve engulfed me
in fragments of your absence.
2014
Also, read In Conversation With HS Shivaprakash, interviewed by Owshnik Ghosh and published in The Antonym.
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A great effort Owshnik. Keep going!
Encouragement and inspiration might take you a long way.
Thank you so much