Relationships and Family

The First Bud of Love

The first bud of love withers away at the first moment of meeting;
He did not heed her pleas, but flew into the deep woods.
The spring air blooms all flowers,
Alas! my flower wilts away;
Every home lights up, but my lamp flickers away at twilight
Garland of wild flowers cry out around my neck,
I sob in solace rolling in the dusty road like torn ivy.
With intolerable thirst at the mouth of the sea
Fall down on the sandy breast of the shore
Taking me for a smoky cloud, the bird ignores me
I scathe from the fire of your absence.


[Original: Prothom Moner Koli; Translation: Kashfia Billah]

The Eternal Child

O the nameless eternal child
you have come across unknown lands,
what ornament of name you have put on!


What a prison it is for the chainless!

Tell me, by what name I'll call you again
to my heart's content,
you lost your way from this home
where you lived, where you do come back
over and over again losing your own name.

O my sweet dear,
you are the radiant pearl of my dark home
filling the hungry home with little butter

your tiny hand has brought.

That today in intimate happiness
a sea of wailing swells up in my bosom

to call you by a new name,
who is there to stop my voice
my mind, too, utterly dejected.


You came from settling down, O traveller
stepping toward rising up.

[Original: Chiro Shishu; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]

The Bird-Hunter's Song

Who is that who looks askance at me?
Is it a look of fear, diffidence or tenderness?


She smiles at me holding the aerial roots of the banyan,
Or floating her water vessel in the pond.


As she watches me bird-hunting
Her eyes fill with tears like a pair
of mussel-shells brimmed

with water from a kohl-dark lake.
The water lilies tremble in the clasp of her palm.
She knits her brows and chides me --
Is it fear, diffidence or tenderness?

Reclining her relaxed body, she arranges her tress,
Tucks at the waist the end of her dress;
She cracks her fingers and drags her feet,


oh, how she drags her feet!

At times she dives in the water,

at times she swims about,
For dallying at the ghat, she finds all the excuse.
She wants me to believe that

she is waiting for someone else.
Is it in fear, diffidence or tenderness?

[Translated from the Bangla by Farida Majid]

The Bird-Hunter's Song

Who is that who looks askance at me?
Is it a look of fear, diffidence or tenderness?


She smiles at me holding the aerial roots of the banyan,
Or floating her water vessel in the pond.


As she watches me bird-hunting
Her eyes fill with tears like a pair
of mussel-shells brimmed

with water from a kohl-dark lake.
The water lilies tremble in the clasp of her palm.
She knits her brows and chides me --
Is it fear, diffidence or tenderness?

Reclining her relaxed body, she arranges her tress,
Tucks at the waist the end of her dress;
She cracks her fingers and drags her feet,


oh, how she drags her feet!

At times she dives in the water,

at times she swims about,
For dallying at the ghat, she finds all the excuse.
She wants me to believe that

she is waiting for someone else.
Is it in fear, diffidence or tenderness?

[Translated from the Bangla by Farida Majid]

My Songs

My songs like wounded birds, faIl

At thy feet, O darling. Pick up all

Those bleeding birds in your breast

Tenderly and let them meet their eternal rest

At thy bosom, a death beautiful and serene.

Borne on the wings of music they were seen

Flying in the sky when the arrow of thine eyes Pierced them:

And with their dying notes there
did arise

A new flood tide of songs, O my hunter

Thou brought for me a taste of nectar

Shrouded in death's melancholy.

[Original in Bangla: Gaan-guli mor; Translation: Kabir Chowdhury]

My Explanation

I am a poet of today, not a prophet of a future day,
Poet or worthless, call me whatever, I put up with anything you say.
Some say, to the future you belong,
Your place, as a poet, tomorrow will come along.
How come you lack message enduring like that emanates from Rabi's hand?
I am blamed, but I wont' quit playing rising sun's music band.


My fellow poets are disappointed, they read my works and sigh,
Saying: the good one is becoming no good, as he can't say to politics good-bye.
Does not read a book - finished is this chap!
Some say: His wife has brought, indeed, all this mishap!
Some say: The fat one is spoiled, playing cards - non-stop - in the jail,
Others say: You were better there; toward jail again you should sail!


Mentor says: You're no good, except shaving using a sword!
Every Saturday my lover's letter conveys me, 'Nothing useful in you is stored.'
I say: Honey, shall I reveal the secret?
Letters stop in a hurry; not one more I get.
Sacrificing everything, I got married: Hindus say, 'Get lost'!
Am I Muslim or a heathen? Where is my pigtail or beard, or the hem of loin-cloth?


All the goody-searching priests or Mollahs wave their hands and pronounce:
This one invokes names of deities; this rogue one we must denounce!
Hear the Fatwa: Kafir is this Kazi; nothing else,
Even though he wants martyrdom, or so he tells!
Some scripture we know, and we still earn our livelihood!
Hindus detest my use of Persian words saying: from us, this guy deserves no good!


No one is happy with me; the disciples of non-violence? of course, not!
I am blamed I play the violin of violence; I get the revolutionaries' hot heads even
more hot.
The revolutionaries say: This one is non-violent,
My songs deal with spinning wheels: they resent.
Top Brahmins find me atheist, lesser ones regard me as one of the Confucians;
Independence lovers don't accept me; their opponents prefer me to be with those
Europeans!


Men think I am a feminist; women, however, think otherwise,
I never went to England; I am worthless in my expatriate friends' eyes!
My admirers see me as Rabi of new age,
If not of new age, at least a poet of these trendy days!
I hear all these, bemused; exercise for a stronger heart,
Lie down with eyeglasses on; sleeping through the day is my life's part.


I don't know what I write; Do I even understand anything of my own?
I couldn't raise my hand in protest, so I write with my head down.
Dear friends, I did not find appreciation in you,
but my name shines in government's list in lieu.
Honoring my works as invaluable, without value people take it.
Have you heard anything else? Be careful, may not be far a government spy's pit!


Friends, you have seen me engrossed in my own mind's temple,



I rebuke and admonish my mind, but bringing it under control I wish were so simple!
Every time I chain itself, somehow it escapes free
I beat it, and the same I repeat, to complete my victory,
I wish this mad mind would listen to me, but even to Rabi or Gandhi, it did not listen,
Abruptly it wakes up and then wanders in the jungle's darkness in search of roaring
tigers that glisten.


I say, O this insane one, you are doing so great in the community,
You are already a half-leader; but if you lose this opportunity,
would you ever be a full leader,
and weep with the crowd as a speaker?
Pick up the fish in the net now, O fool, before it slips away, I bet!
Take this break to get your leaky house fixed, otherwise soon you will regret.


Who understands that this minstrel's mind roams around singing and reciting!
This name hardly rings any bell; Days are passed chewing Betel leaves, ah, a taste so
inviting!
May be some day there won't be any more of epidemic of malaria,
Especially, since the autonomy is coming in its full pomp and euphoria.
Yes, we want moon, but those hapless ones cherish a meal, as teardrops of their little
ones dribble,
The agonized mother shouts: Hush, you miserables! See, independence is coming - no
more quibble!


But those hungry kids can't care less about autonomy; their desire: a little salt and
some rice,
Ah! the hour is late; nothing they have nibbled yet; the flame of hunger seeks no
advice.
When I hear that cry, my insane mind charges in a rush,
My intoxication for autonomy seeks shelter merely in my dream's brush!
I say, bemoaning: O God, are you still there? Why are they not, then,
Humiliated or destroyed, those who suck the blood of these children?


We all know, to bring independence, those lofty slogans we have devised,
And, at the same time, how burning hunger of so many million children, we have
compromised!
So much money was raised, but independence still remained a dream,
as the hungry people can't pay enough, they are so weak even to scream!
When a baby is snatched away from the mother's bosom, we plead, O royal tiger,
please eat grass!
The mother keeps begging from door to door, while in her shack hiding the baby's
carcass.


My friends, I can't say any more; my mind feels so much agony and pain,
I have gone mad; now, I utter whatever my mouth throws out in disdain.
My own blood won't make much difference,
With blood-ink I keep writing, hence,
My head can't forbear robust ideas or big thought any more; so agonized is this mortal,
All those who are in peace and happiness, it's your privilege to write epics immortal.


I don't care any more, if I live or don't, when gone is this trendy sensation,
Rabi is shining above our head, and then there are you, the golden generation.



Those who usurp the morsel of three hundred thirty million people: let our prayer keep
brewin',
In my blood-ink writing, may it be engraved and sealed their utter ruin.


[Original: Bengali, Translator: Dr. Mohammad Omar Farooq ]

Like a Lost Bird

At the end of the rolIing road, my dearest, I await alone;
Rolling in the dust of the path you have traveled.
The way you have walked on the bright ground of the mountains
I wish you could rub your feet on my breast making me forget my pain
I do not desire anything, no slumber in my eyes;
Wandering aimlessly in the street, the neighborhood laughs at me.
I cannot go to the pond, how have you enchanted me!
In the black water of the pond, I see your black beauty
You have scandalized me and left me alone!


[Original: Pothhara Pakhi; Translation: Kashfia Billah]

Let's Meet Hereafter!

We will meet again in the life Hereafter;
Here, please, forget me with a simple laughter.
Anything that remained unsaid,
I won't say; Let you also keep silence;
If I offer my love, turn me away;
If I persist, hurt me, in pretense.


Dream is broken abruptly here,
The evening's bud sheds in the dawn;
The heart dries up before love is savored;
The ambrosia here has the taste of poison.


In separation here, heart longs in agony;
When together, quickly we go apart;
Where the fountain of love is never dry,
In that everlasting Garden, remember to seek my heart.


[Translation: Mohammad Omar Farooq]

If I was Daddy, and Daddy was Me

If I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me),

if he didn't finish memorizing the multiplication tables I'd tap him on the head!
If everyday was Sunday,
Oh, what fun that would be


no more multiplication tables, writing, drawing-measuring,
if I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me)!
[Orijinal: Ami jodi baba hotam; Translation: Sajed Kamal]

If I was Daddy, and Daddy was Me

If I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me),

if he didn't finish memorizing the multiplication tables I'd tap him on the head!
If everyday was Sunday,
Oh, what fun that would be


no more multiplication tables, writing, drawing-measuring,
if I was Daddy and Daddy was Khoka (that's me)!
[Orijinal: Ami jodi baba hotam; Translation: Sajed Kamal]

I Know Your Compassion Mother

I know your compassion Mother and hence await better days.
I may meanwhile be battered with losses, want and debt.
You cause me pain only to take me to your Bosom.
Can any mother remain indifferent after inflicting pain on her child.
I know that you are more kind than hard-hearted
So the more you frighten me the closer r get to your Bosom.
There might be good reason for your chiding me.
Just because you make me weep and wince


I cannot say I have no mother.

[Original: Koruna tor jani mago; Translation: Abu Rushd]

I am a Proud Muslim Woman

I am a proud muslim woman,
I'm the scent of a flower in the household-desert.


The dark Ka'aba I've illuminated with a light,
and on Eid-day brought a plate of gifts.
I was the first to be converted,
I was the first to garland the prophet.
I have sacrificed my son, my husband,
my relations in the battles of karbala and badar
That is known to all the planets,
and to Allah.


[Ami gorobini muslim bala; Translation: Abu Rushd]

Hope


Perhaps we shall meet,
Where the bending sky kisses
The green wilderness.


Yonder, in the village field
On the ridges or the desolate quay
Perhaps you shall come smiling;
And clasp my arms.


Your unveiled glances,
In that impervious blue
Bring the secret message
From the southern breeze.


In the chinks of wilderness;
Oh dear;
Your gentle kisses on my eyes
Remain enshrined.
In the horizon's golden hue.


[Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]

Evening Star

Oh, dear evening star
Whose bride art thou with veils,
In the glances of your eyes,
Whose forgotten face dwells?


Evening lamp, with a veiI to hide,
And casting glances at this bride,
Though often her looks quiver,
This goes on for ever.


Whose lost bride is she?
At dusk, mute and beside me,
To arouse the yearning for a home,
In the heart of a homeless wanderer.


Perpetually you rise and sink,
With a tender pallid wink,
For whom, you heavenly bride?
Where does your beloved abide!


[Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]

Dearest, Don't Say You Have to go!

Dearest, do not say you have to go!
Do not play games with me, no, no, no!
Today the flowers in the garden play the tune of untold feelings;
Which I could not utter from shyness and hurt feelings
Who knows from where this shyness engulfs me,
I cannot look into your eyes!
Like the flrst love of a young girl!
The more deeper I feel, the more shy I become;
Do not trample all my hopes under your feet, no, no, no!


[Original: Priyo Jai Jai Bolona; Translation: Kashfia Billah]

Coward


I know,
Why you do not look back
You have left your abode
For the temple of God
To while away the time
With the dolls.


And to flitter the self away
Oh dear,
Not knowing that playing with heart:
Leads up to endless tears.


So great is the debt
When the eyes meet, |
And the moments smack.
I know,
Why you do not look back.


I know,
Why you do not look back.
When the eyes get lost In the eyes.
And the word slowly dies..


When you are all alone.
In the sanctum of your home
There is collyrium In your bright eyes
And not the tears.
No deceit rings
In the anklets you wear.


As you walk,
I know,
Why you do hot look back
I know,
Why you do not look back,
When no creepers
On your feet roll
As you stroll,
In the wilderness.
You plucked flowers
In sheer absent mindness,
Without hurting your fingers.


Not knowing the truth either
That, with the garlands
The heart also withers.
Not knowing that
Behind a scurrilous mouth,
A loneliness lurks.
I know,
Why you do not look back.



I am conscious
Of your deceitfulness and skill
But you never knew, indeed
That on your cheeks,
There is a hue
Of pomegranate seeds.


Never knew that,
The timid hearts of women,
Like a creeper laden with a bee,
For those untold words and the denials
Shiver in agony.


And as much as the eye wails
The modesty prevails;
I know you coward,
Why your own image
That you unwittingly fear.


Of man, you have known,
And he is a stone
To whom you never bowed.
You have desired
A pair of covetous hands
And bowed to touch the feet,
Not knowing though
A heart becomes a touch-stone
With another touch on it.
I know coward
Why you wander.


I know what is your fear
When the desires of the heart
In the two shores of body whisper.


The fragrance of
A blooming heart
The petals can never thwart.
However much you wish to hide,
It breaks far and wide.


All the secret words
Have gathered in you dear
I know what is your fear.


I know,
Why you cannot say openly:
The nightingale has carried
The message secretly.


The words you wanted to hear,
How did she know of it, oh dear?



The same words
The bride murmured
Gently raising her eyes:
Who knew that in her cruel fingers
Such magic lies.
I know,
Why you cannot say openly.


I know,
Why no ornaments you wear
The flame of agony
Has burnt your flesh Into gold oh dear!
To adorn a doll
Of clay with attire?
Why should gold
Mere gold desire?


Leaving the shores of the body
The mind seeks purity.
The agony of mine, oh dear.
Now adorns your beauty
I know,
Why no ornament you wear.


I know
They will not abide;
The maiden
Who slept in the night
Woke up as a bride.


She swims with the foam
Not really knowing
The oyster's home.
The pearl you have found


But the shell of the eyes
In the tears got drowned
When the burden
Is too heavy to bear,
The heart also sinks
In utter despair.
Oh unlucky woman!
How shall you make it clear?


[Original: Bhiru; Translation: Syed Mujibul Huq]

All Midnight I Suddenly Wake Up

At midnight I suddenly wake up hearing someone's voice
is that you, is that you?

I feel the load of some memory in my breast is
that you, is that you?

Some one's hungry love roams about seeking aIms

Some one's piteous eyes like the stars in the night-sky
look at the sought-after face - is that you, is that you?

The wind at night carries someone's lingering sigh

And stirs my heart; Oh my distant beloved
is that you, is that you?

Like the ocean-wave whose crying bruises my heart

The nightingale in the wood ceaselessly chirps on the champah tree
is that you, is that you ?

[Original: Gobhir nishithe ghum bhenge jay; Translation: Abu Rushd]

A Call from Behind

Dear! Wilt thou remember me in thy new home?
There dost thou begin the world under
new auspices with new offerings

Deserted is now the leafy cottage; its
shady neighborhood where we two
first exchanged our looks, where
every particle of dust, every.
creeper and leaf is redolent
of the wealth of eternal acquaintance
in the worship of hearts,

And a dismal void now cries in the wilderness.
As didst thou forget me, many a man could
come to thee,
Then out of sympathy for me would that
cottage weep out an offended heart,
Wherever dist thou turn thy eyes,
my reminiscences there made thy heart ache,
Thou wilt drown that reproach here

in the depths of new field;
I alone am lost in the woods' of oblivion.
The distance between thee and me was so

long no real distance,
As that old mansion would bring my

distance into nearness.
Now hast thou formed new ties,
Opened a new fountain of laughter and tears,
New performance and new revelry of song,
Under the impulse of new welcome!
To the cold storage my own tune is consigned.
Dear! Mine is today forlorn hope, as

pre-ordained by the divinity,
Today on my grave will be built thy bridal

sanctum sanatorium
In the air is echoed and re-echoed
The music of the Sylvan flute in the mouth

of some cow-herd,
Lost, lost am I in the western horizon!
Farewell, Dear, our role comes to an end

with the setting sun,
Now art thou a new one in a new home!

[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

The wide ocean of tears overflow,
His frantic thunder will make a
volcano burst forth
Mountain and ocean and sky and air
will encircle him in a cyclic dance,
for shame! Mother, why shouldst thou weep
plaintively like that?
Rather recite to me some lay heard
by thee from him.
And listening let me fall asleep on thy lap.
But who knocks at the door?
Is it the storm that strikes like him?
O West Wind' Wild West Wind!
Thy friend is on the other side of the sea.
He shall not come where I do exist.
Gone is he to that land where falleth not my shadow.
Why, still, from time to-time,
Do I feel inclined to call him?
To whom should I breathe what remains
still unsaid by me?
O Mother, my heart's anguish doth struggle
hard on the threshold of my boso
Adieu! Adieu! Speak to him of me
if thou dost meet him?
A King's offering can a beggar-maid.
ever refuse it?
I know. I know, Mother,
My offended lover, shall come again
In search of me at dead of night
to this door of our cottage,
Tell him then I am lost in darkness
in search of him alone!


[Translation: Abdul Hakim]

The Bride-Soul

When will that day dawn, Mother;
When the One I took birth for
Holds me to His heart with deathless love?
I long for the bliss of divine union.
I long to lose my body, mind, and soul
And become one with my husband.
When will that day dawn, Mother?
Husband, fulfil now the longing I have had
Since before the universe was made.
Enter me completely and release me.
In terrible lonely years without You
I yearn and yearn for You.
I spend sleepless nights hunting for You,
Gazing into darkness after You,
With unblinking hopeless eyes.
When will that day dawn, Mother?
When will my Lord hold me to His heart?
My empty bed, like a hungry tigress,
Devours me whenever I try to sleep.
Listen to your slave's prayer -
Come and put out this blaze of agony
That consumes my soul and body.
When will He hold me to His heart?
When will that day dawn, Mother?
Kabir sings, "If I ever meet You, my Beloved,
I'll cling to you so fiercely You melt into me;
I'll sing from inside You songs of union,
World-dissolving songs of Eternal Bliss."

My body is flooded

My body is flooded
With the flame of Love.
My soul lives in
A furnace of bliss.


Love's fragrance
Fills my mouth,
And fans through all things
With each outbreath.

Knowing Nothing Shuts The Iron Gates

Knowing nothing shuts the iron gates;
the new love opens them.

The sound of the gates opening wakes
the beautiful woman asleep.

Kabir says: Fantastic!
Don't let a chance like this go by!

The White Ships and the Red
(For Alden March)
With drooping sail and pennant
That never a wind may reach,
They float in sunless waters
Beside a sunless beach.
Their mighty masts and funnels
Are white as driven snow,
And with a pallid radiance
Their ghostly bulwarks glow.
Here is a Spanish galleon
That once with gold was gay,
Here is a Roman trireme
Whose hues outshone the day.
But Tyrian dyes have faded,
And prows that once were bright
With rainbow stains wear only
Death's livid, dreadful white.
White as the ice that clove her
That unforgotten day,
Among her pallid sisters
The grim Titanic lay.
And through the leagues above her
She looked aghast, and said:
"What is this living ship that comes
Where every ship is dead?"
The ghostly vessels trembled
From ruined stern to prow;
What was this thing of terror
That broke their vigil now?
Down through the startled ocean
A mighty vessel came,
Not white, as all dead ships must be,
But red, like living flame!
The pale green waves about her
Were swiftly, strangely dyed,
By the great scarlet stream that flowed
From out her wounded side.
And all her decks were scarlet
And all her shattered crew.
She sank among the white ghost ships
And stained them through and through.
The grim Titanic greeted her
"And who art thou?" she said;
"Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet
Arrayed in living red?
We are the ships of sorrow


Who spend the weary night,
Until the dawn of Judgment Day,
Obscure and still and white."
"Nay," said the scarlet visitor,
"Though I sink through the sea,
A ruined thing that was a ship,
I sink not as did ye.
For ye met with your destiny
By storm or rock or fight,
So through the lagging centuries
Ye wear your robes of white.
"But never crashing iceberg
Nor honest shot of foe,
Nor hidden reef has sent me
The way that I must go.
My wound that stains the waters,
My blood that is like flame,
Bear witness to a loathly deed,
A deed without a name.
"I went not forth to battle,
I carried friendly men,
The children played about my decks,
The women sang -- and then --
And then -- the sun blushed scarlet
And Heaven hid its face,
The world that God created
Became a shameful place!
"My wrong cries out for vengeance,
The blow that sent me here
Was aimed in Hell. My dying scream
Has reached Jehovah's ear.
Not all the seven oceans
Shall wash away that stain;
Upon a brow that wears a crown
I am the brand of Cain."
When God's great voice assembles
The fleet on Judgment Day,
The ghosts of ruined ships will rise
In sea and strait and bay.
Though they have lain for ages
Beneath the changeless flood,
They shall be white as silver,
But one -- shall be like blood.

The House with Nobody in It
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.