Fire can’t reach the sky
Faith can
Wind cannot shake the hills
But love can.
Gazing at the sky a red rose blooms in the eye
Walking in the hills should I get tired Dakshayoni?
It reminds me of fire, when I see the face of a destitute
I look for you holding light in my grip
When I think of your desire enkindled
My blood pulsate bit by bit
I’m the Maker of a new creation.
As you lie unwell
I think of moonlight in daytime
At night, I scribble poem of fatigue and boredom
Reclining on the bed of God.
I stitch unreal images with celestial needle and thread
And I put my trust on fire
And pray- Get well my love!
Let dejection be wiped out in affection,
As you sit by me like a love-stricken doe
I touch the naval of sky confessing my failure
Like a soothsayer,
Oh you, Mahashweta-
Oh you, the supreme women.
Dakhyaoni: Daughter of Saint Dakhya, the mythological symbol of creation; Mahashweta: A goddess, supreme woman.
Translated by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman