I, the old man and my dream
(Bridhyo ami o swopon)
Moniruddin Yusuf
I knew an old man a long time ago.
He used to walk every afternoon
attired by long white dress.
I knew him. He had some apathy towards life
with shattered dream.
Yet a smile flickers at his lips
on the fall of the evening
and the scented breeze around him
condensed like the mist.
He would go across his age
and get in himself among the younger ones at quick steps.
The people say, as it were, “I am that old man,”
wherein words and phrases are products
of the same source.
Methinks, neither propitious light falls on me,
nor the birds sing any song for me.
I am simply immersed in myself
to be happy in the emptiness of
hopelessness only.
I know this life would be centrifugal one day,
nothing of hopefulness and desires
would remain bound in this life.
That’s the reason why on this dark hour
I would like to think some stories,
for instant I want to taste love
of Jolekha and her unbearable
but peerless pain.
In touch of that body my heart
and mind would shiver
I shall be fighting shy in touching that body
full of dream like the wild deer’s quick run.
There’s no desired horizon,
no line of wilderness at the back-drop,
there’s none to explore pearl
to put in casket of good time.
There had been flower decorated border
of clothes
that walked on water-coloured ends of sari
on the dreamland
of Saju’s naxi-kantha
(embroidered quilt) with unbound hopes.
Would I then hope for that night
of love-bird
in one of the folk-tales
and go across the endless field
where love-dove calls for love
in this lonely time?
(Kabya Samagra p-56)
-Tr. : M. Mizanur Rahman
(Bridhyo ami o swopon)
Moniruddin Yusuf
I knew an old man a long time ago.
He used to walk every afternoon
attired by long white dress.
I knew him. He had some apathy towards life
with shattered dream.
Yet a smile flickers at his lips
on the fall of the evening
and the scented breeze around him
condensed like the mist.
He would go across his age
and get in himself among the younger ones at quick steps.
The people say, as it were, “I am that old man,”
wherein words and phrases are products
of the same source.
Methinks, neither propitious light falls on me,
nor the birds sing any song for me.
I am simply immersed in myself
to be happy in the emptiness of
hopelessness only.
I know this life would be centrifugal one day,
nothing of hopefulness and desires
would remain bound in this life.
That’s the reason why on this dark hour
I would like to think some stories,
for instant I want to taste love
of Jolekha and her unbearable
but peerless pain.
In touch of that body my heart
and mind would shiver
I shall be fighting shy in touching that body
full of dream like the wild deer’s quick run.
There’s no desired horizon,
no line of wilderness at the back-drop,
there’s none to explore pearl
to put in casket of good time.
There had been flower decorated border
of clothes
that walked on water-coloured ends of sari
on the dreamland
of Saju’s naxi-kantha
(embroidered quilt) with unbound hopes.
Would I then hope for that night
of love-bird
in one of the folk-tales
and go across the endless field
where love-dove calls for love
in this lonely time?
(Kabya Samagra p-56)
-Tr. : M. Mizanur Rahman
