Once again, a translation from my nameless Bengali original. As Puchkilla says so often, “reading a translation is like eating chewed food!” And I feel it now with this translation more than ever before. But I present this example of ineptitude anyway, under the guise of my urban wilderness:
Like the sweet wind carrying the
hints of Tamarisk love,
the unvaried wearisome stream of a million lives
keeps on floating and floating by,
but without the moisture, dry.
Like the allure of some distant memory
the din of rolling waves
of hundreds of unknown sounds, dreamily supernatant,
reach my ears.
Like the faint silhouette of a distant misty village,
it provides the glimpse of a fascinating hope,
but without the respite of a cry.
A mere stretch of arms, and in my palms
I hold the fretful clinker drone.
Like the foam of a well-known ocean.
As underneath two empty brackish hands
endless roars keep falling in unceasing thrashes,
at moment’s closing, they dissolve amongst
the scentless sky.
I sit on shore sands, solitary.
Colours of life fill my eyes.
I fill my heart with the inheritance
of all I have seen and all I have not
and all my silent sighs.
Has always been inept, the heart,
and steadily has moved apart.
Echoes of the roar stop, the din grows faint,
as if I comprehend the transience of foam
and all sound’s futile effort.
Wild, fathomless, unaccepting blue
at the hearts of the two people resides.
Spasms inflate the colours of forlorn.
One is a rainbow forgetfully hiding a love in its music.
The other, a dark black unmoving stone.
Like twigs floating by in a wearied stream,
with infinite gestures of a choiceless love
for an instant they lift their eyes to see
the absurdity of a poem
at moment’s closing in blissful Lethe
within the clinkers of foam.
© 2007 Ritwik Banerjee
Urban Wilderness by
Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.