AL MAHMUD[1]
Poet’s exercise book is flying away
It seems I was going somewhere, some other horizon,
I turn back, there’s no one behind me
I’m oscillating in the wind- blowing up, your affection
As if is engulfing me.
Both of my legs
Are shaking violently
The leaves are dropping down endlessly
In front of my eyes my exercise book is flying away
I am going to write poems more and more some more years
I passed my morning and evening in juvenile game
Now I opened my fist and saw, O my god,
I’ve nothing left in my palm, but the life-line.
There’s no smell of gold coins, with melody
Its like I beg air from the wind
Money is nothing but palm of my hand- leaves of the trees
Falling down incessantly,
Oscillating
Like the exercise book.
Oscillating so impossibly, as if the poet is standing
The picture is standing
In the air
I look at it. It would be my own lesson.
My boat is floating on the water in front of me
I shall go far in the shoals
Is that my last destination?
37
May be I have my abode and bed lying there.
I Lived a Life and Death
I lived a life, a giant one
Where I reached, what I got, I know not
My body tremble, my heart aches
The way trees swing in gusty wind
I shiver, I move with both of my legs
I lived a ,long life till my death
I crossed a long way, I passed a long life
I lived a long life, what I got
I stretched my palms open
What’s written there?
Nobody knows. Unknown waves
Generated a storm inside my bosom
What’s your name? Where do you live? Wait a bit
Stretch your hands and let me touch you.
Can anybody tell, where am I? Where shall I go?
Waves after waves rise and fall in my bosom
Let the waves pass through my blood stream
For whom my hope enlivens and love enrich?
38
In the Darkness that hide tears
I go on speaking about the legend of love while walking
Does the road know what message I spread all over
She only beacons me, calls me, stares at me
Melodies of songs spread all over- crossing the intersection
Open the door O neighbour! The strange
Stretched her hands towards you
Give me some love and affection to this traveler.
On my palm spreads so many lines like branches
Suddenly I meet you in the middle of the boulevard
It inappropriate no doubt, but still I can touch
Your anchal, your sari.
It is not the game of scrambling, this is the game of love
Written on my path, I should meet you
The legend of love does not end
Now catch my hand- and let immerse into the discourse of love
There’s no end of exchange- this is, I think, love
someone’s tears are concealed in the darkness,
this is the language of love.
[1] Al Mahmud (b. 1936), first book of poems ‘Lok Lokantar’ was published in 1964