Silver-tongued Goddess & Other poems
My verses are born in the silence where Zebras play
with their colts. After a long expedition, I’ve found
a page marker, an intense negation and the shadow
of a dazzling pomegranate. Gazing at the shattered
clock, I start to write. One side, my oceanography
classes and on the other side, my desire of swimming
with you. As I enter into this house of cards, you
always ask whether I am a Libra? Are you Kanonbala –
I ask her in reply. The conundrums are now at its best.
Your aroma is just like grasses. Here I open the window;
and see vendors coming back from the marketplace,
bruised & battered. Starlight pours into our house of
I have never seen such rumbling clouds, let us talk
about hara-kiri; or you wanna define some cosmology?
Here come the hermaphrodites! Let us now talk about
the sadness of the crotons. Desire, beauty and sin; walk
Don’t be so shy my silver-tongued goddess, don’t ever
look at the bitter-moon. The curse-flower has finally
bloomed; I’m so lost in it. Just be a little blithe; she is
with an endless cricket-hymn, she is with a thousands of
pointed needle onto her face. Isn’t she a weedoholic,
a desperate night killer – just like you?
The lexicon of mutes is lost in the maze of tamarisk.
Now I’m sleepy; let the old musket be my pillow. I came
here to clasp your harvest in the name of the holy King.
I don’t have talents; so, I used to follow the tweets of
yellow birds, and the narrow trail that headed to your
On the Red Hill
One day the Moon itself will creep into your bedroom. Then you’d think
who’s gonna get those cloves and cardamoms. Here you can roll back your
grass-carpet. Text has been long dead, so do the spice charmer, and every
blade of the golden grass. We can’t foster a thing here; neither the brew-star
nor the wind-chime; a kiss, or just a gas-lamp! Here I have to stand right
before a sage tree; or jump over the Koka-Shastra and the fatal cracks. In
the slant of the Red Hill, I met the cloud-mistress. She left the cluster of
keys as I flipped some magic-circles. Hasn’t she come here to teach me?
Oh God, which door the skeleton-key is for!
I haven’t seen tunnels, but you. I’ve got some
firestones, stuffed birds, bubble-making devices
and so on. Are you regaining your trust now?
Trains full of soldiers are headed to the frontier.
Let’s close our eyes and see all these. How would
you see a new world if you don’t see the stature
of your good old banyan-tree. At night, I hear
zillions of filthy flies buzz around us. You haven’t
explained yet why you used to carry a razor-sharp
hacksaw blade in bed consistently.
Translated from Bengali by Andaleeb. Andaleeb (born: October 1978) is a Bangladeshi poet, bloomed in early-2000s. 3 books have been published so far. Presently working in a semi-government organization in Dhaka.
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