Hassanal Abdullah

A poet, novelist, essayist, critic, translator and the editor of Shabdaguchha

With a Little Cash If I have a little cash, I will open an art shop My modernist call Will raise echo and journey to Corners of places not reached before. Let few days pass by If I have a little cash, I will wash your Soft feet with spring water. If I have some money I will buy the giant sky-- Wandering all day on its floor Birds will wake me up And they will again put me asleep easily. The world will find my hands in its own If the crooked line of restlessness Is wiped away. With some money I will spend my time listening to the bees. Faraway conversations: No longer talking from wire-to-wire No more wasting of sinew. Bangladesh, take note of it I will rest my head upon your breast And sleep all night in tranquility When I have just a little cash. Translated from the Bengali by Nazrul Islam Naz   God's Home In my childhood I saw many gods With their red wide eyes Full of threats. My days passed by Like a scared chick Thrown into the corner of domesticity. I did not raise my eyes to face them eye-to-eye. They were on my head As well as in thought's soft stage And standing still in my path of vision. I was not unhappy, Walking behind them, but at times I longed for a walk on the horizon Away from their kingdom. The thirst for freedom Loomed in my burning breast. Gods are still there, even more modern, Robust, with their feet on atomic spheres: Their cobwebs imprison my days. In fact I have not moved an inch from their kingdom. Translated from the Bengali by Nazrul Islam Naz   The Light of the Earth At last, I've captured the light of the earth in my courtyard. That's a new story, a new jubilation of the se-- The wave goes away; soon it comes back to me And the century's hungry compass rotates on its own orbit. Thereafter, I have quickly embraced it. It was trembling, but Showing my smiling face, I sucked its poison with my eyes. I've Walked far to the edge of salty, translucent memories. Leaves of Trees danced to the whistling tones of doves and robins. A luxurious life is cracked with clumsy interior. I've heard all attentively sitting on a waterbed. I've seen a group old poets rushing towards me with Annoyed faces, squandering the neighborhood, pushing knives Through word's heart. Still, I've tasted all the flavors of this world; Time gave it to me, and made them crazy indeed. Translated from the Bengali by Nazrul Islam Naz   The Story of Ants The ants got scared They do not go home They do not eat daal,nor dried rice Are not moved by ticklings of the wind Ants are not going home. Once molasses Smell like tobbaco leaf,       dusk's sugarcane, They no longer eat. The ants got scared They do not go home. If rain, thunder comes to drown them, they drow-- Do not rise in protest. If the burning heat comes to burn them, they burn If still alive--dig earth again. "Look at these ants       Standing up with hands and feet up." Why not eating? Why not eating? Why not going home? Ants are in meditation all through midday. They do not go home. Translated from the Bengali by Nazrul Islam Naz   A Tale of Pigs and Peoples Not pig, born as human, This is my pride. In response to your call I will touch the delicacy of your skin. Moments later, forsaking all, Taking on a pig's character Even if you can do it but not I. And this is my pride. One needs to be human prior to becoming a lover And to receive love Beautiful heart is required Like a human Not everyone can be a pig. Translated from the Bengali by Nazrul Islam Naz