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Issue 45/46 : July - Dec 2009 : Volume 12 No 1/2 Abu Hasan Shahriar Resurrection Perhaps that plain and smooth footpath Is now covered by chemise of grass. Shadow of the Deodar prolonged into waves, Handfans dropped down out of our grips. Streams of life, meaningless like a paper-made note Has vanished away into the dark. Still in the edge of the past left behind and afar Dim light twinkles in the cornice of pain. Stop the boat; let me jump into the black water, I’ll swim to traverse the path that had been left back. In the dins and bustles of life you have built I see series and rows of faces of dead. Yes, if I return, all would turn their faces away, And maintain a safe distance from me. Yet I’ll seek those eyes, keenly awaiting and anxious for me, Whose name only the Deodar knows. Dhaka Translated from the Bengali by Nazib Wadood Naznin Seamon Still, We Walk Dragging down the body of time, Another dense night falls long on us. The calls, that come from a distant place Cracking our daily lives, slice us As if it were as sharp as a saw; As if our loneliness was broken through the splash Of steaming water. We groan as the sun-beaten Dry field slips away like snakes- And then, the echoing dawn breaks out. We find our tattered selves tangling Through the noisy time- Still, we walk. We walk for the distant waves. New York Translated from the Bengali by Hassanal Abdullah |