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Modern Poetry>Al Mahmud
The Foam of Wind
Nothing lasts, behold.
Behold how the leaves, the flowers, the old villagers,
the pose of rivers' dancing, the brazen pitchers and the
fire of hookah
and the flock of grown up girls gradually diminish
like the monsoon of Hilsa fish !
The yellow leaves, sounding in the wind,
fall down on the droughty desolate land.
The foreign ducks too, on whose bodies
there are millions of bubble, fly away
into the shallow blue cup of the sky.
Why doesn't anything last long?
The corrugated iron sheet, the hay or the muddy walls
and the undecaying banyan tree of village
get uprooted by the terrible typhoon of Chittagong.
The plaster splits and in the long run the mosque of our
like our Faith, collapses down with a heavy crash.
The nests of sparrows, the love, the twigs and tendrils,
and the covers of books, fall off twisted.
By the water's bite of the Meghna,
the crops' green scream of the horizon starts trembling.
The houses float, float the pitchers and the cowsheds.
Like the affection of my elder sister, the old embroidered
pillow gets also sunk.
After the decay of dwelling-houses, nothing exists more.
Only the birds, fond of water, flying in the sky
wipe off the foam of wind from their beaks.
Translation: Sayeed Abubakar
Readers' Comments :
comment : 1
I very much like this poem. I would be curious to know in what sense the poet writes "our Fraith collapses down with a heavy crash." Does he mean (a) the faith of the (implied) author which is weakening as he ages or as he experiences, or (b) the faith of the Bengladeshi people, and if so in what way is it collapsing, or (c) the faith of Islam and if so, in what way is international Islam collapsing?
comment : 2
I might add that this is one of the first two literary texts from Bengladesh I have ever read. The other was also a poem from this site, but I found that one terribly overdone.
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