ABUL HUSSAIN[1]
To a Connoisseur of Poems
Don’t tell me, o friend, to write accurate poems.
I do not have the passion of making a peevish puberty-encountering
maiden fearless or ill-tempered fleshless
lust of depressed old man.
I do not desire to glide through the muddy water of time
Casting white sail, to the country,
which is termed as colourful country.
I don’t want to soar up to Aloka in the golden rays
Of Sun of the noon, like a vulture, that fly leaving a corpse,
I do not feel like bragging as a poet. So I don’t want to
Play now only with polished words.
People are not convinced with words alone,
I didn’t like addiction to wealth
I wanted only a piece of cake and a shelter.
Let not an obstinate nature of wealth soften up
Let them suffer, who are suffering,
If rule of pen softens up to make plough and sickle powerful
Let us create an abode, the future generation shall sing songs.
I recollect
I remember my childhood days
When under the banyan tree of Diara
We used to play with marbles
Full of merriment
Sometimes
We would pass our days.
While going to Shoalpur from Sener Bazar
At the crossing of Diara
There was the banyan tree and the junction of three roads.
They are still there, I saw, that day, after seventy years.
The trees, animals and birds too have life like human beings
They remember all what they get and from whom they get
Whatever they get they returns back.
The road lies like a piece of stone
When anybody passes through it
Suddenly wakes up in that moment abruptly
I thought, one day we moved through it with clamour
Did that junction of three roads could ever remember it?
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Before I leave
Does the time of departure nearing
I am ready.
Let me rest a while, before I leave.
What do you say?
What’s urgency?
Is evening nearing?
Let it be.
Please hand over the ash-tray
And another cup of tea
Give me the pillow, let me recline a bit
Don’t you have anything to say? Well?
You have lots to speak
What about that?
Alright come, sit near me
Have to be prepared? It’s useless
Tell me what do I have to take with me,
I do not bother about that
Those who want to prepare let them do that
The way I came, without any companion,
I’ll leave empty-handed.
Whatever I had as my savings
Let it be here
Somebody might need it any time
Before that
Let me rest a while.
[1] Abul Hussain (b. 1922), first book of poems ‘Naba Basanta’ was published in 1940.Winner of Bangla Academy Award, 1963; Ekushey Padak, 1980 and many others