Thursday, February 21, 2019 | ePaper

POEMS

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The old man and
my dream
 -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-colored ends of sari
                 on the dream land
                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?


     Translation: M Mizanur Rahman
  A popular poet

(Dedicated to poet Moniruddin Yusuf )                                                 
 - Farid Sayeed
 Let me tell you about the story
                  of a well conversed smiling boy
who possessed varied quality
                   that I make out his sound ploy.
 
His ancestor is said to be of Mughal clan
and his father was a landlord one
who had pursuit of knowledge
                                      for life-long age.
 
He used to write
                         prose and verse
                                          in newspapers
in which he used to throw light
             on inconsistencies
 right between the village and the town.
Thus he became the poet and playwright
rendering Persian Shahnama into Bengali,
 he accomplished a splendid work really!
 
Thus he worked alone
                          in different literary branches.
Being a man of letters he is known
      by the wise and the knowledgeable race.
 
He is the true writer who reflects
                                         the light of fame
and as such he is dear to all sects             
         being Moniruddin Yousuf by name.
 
                                  Translated by M Mizanur Rahman

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