stunned midnight—this vulture-rain wails on and on
a face—from long ago—whose is it? grasping arms, shocked breasts
snap
fistfuls of counterfeit words stutter and wheeze
ducks wedge their bills in the mud and doze
this sense of guilt
no trace of a grave, just some muddy grass
a life’s fading signature—here one day, gone the next
that taste of a kiss
pushing toward the ghat through clumps of water hyancinths
both hands spilling over with mud-spattered flowers
forehead grazed by a rueful kiss
the last boat of the day has left the marketplace
in the roaring monsoon—murky water
this is a lifelong promise
that never made it back home
each home has an address—to bless with incense and dung
an evening breeze flits through the vegetable patch
black water laps the edge of a brimful pond
a darkening flood of homeless mysteries
what’s left?—the ledger says zero—nothing
someone’s still using the black dregs to paint blood’s delirious drone
the stitching inches along
yesterday a boat went drifting by with its net
unfurling the sail in the hollow wind, a forlorn fisherman
raindrops keep dripping on Agunmukha, the fire-faced river
tonight jute fields are drowning in the drunken rain
these are
schools of slippery fish vanished long ago
muddy whirlpools spawn counterspinning whirlpools of mud
cached weapons rust when the war ends
Amin’s arthritic hands seek warmth just as muscular hands
Sakhina’s husband has gone and sold her at some other market
even so, you know, Sakhina couldn’t forget that bastard’s face
Beluya’s eyes, Fatema’s smile
Sakhina begins to whimper—a stray-dog sort of whimper
the stray dogs are crying
a pair of vultures are crying
all this noise and weeping
with no shores, no banks—oh, hear that faraway
pyre and fire—coupled
in the face of our wretched ferrying back and forth
thunder bellows forth another life
after all this, then what? the rain—neither tired nor tamed—
ends too, leaving only the stunned midnight
and a hoarse cry—solitary and restless
Published in Parabaas January 2016 The poem ডাক first appeared in মেঘে এবং কাদায় (In Mud and Clouds, 1991).
cloud-devouring demon
miles on end of benumbed jute fields
howling jackals, grumbling thunder
dark rows of hurricane lanterns
darkness-battered winds rip up bamboo and thatch
whooping, cackling, whipping soaked saris from unsuspecting bodies
with heart-rending cries Jamuna’s water-ribs crush and
Joynal—in sun and rain, in clouds and mud—
a chiseled body, arms sharp as palm leaves
a slight hollow spot, stagnant water, arrested air
a summons—moss-choked face of an old friend—haunted, afraid
walking back beneath the bokul trees after a bath
gathered along the way
abandoning the crowd of customers at the landing
knee-deep in rising water—hair unbraiding
under the pond scum—bokul blossoms lying in drifts
forehead grazed by a salty kiss, hot and bitter
awnings around the courtyard—under the moon
into the bamboo—spreading the head-spinning
fragrance of kamini
a plate heaped with rice—a sprig
of jasmine tucked in a knot of hair
where the starlit sky joins the riverbank
dawn’s perfume can be caught in the palm of a hand
spilling tears in secret
flood-borne words whisper endlessly behind the back of the backs of words
on faded hand-embroidered quilts
sail and tether
sits alone on the ceaselessly weeping water
water heatless as the ashes of shooting stars
hurricane lanterns outline face after frightened face
shivering breasts, mud-coated thighs
Jamuna’s water-soaked ribs crack, raising a wordless
neverending cry
frozen fodder—burden of guilt
exhausted nightmares
buried under the silt
bodies get rusty too
seek a fire in winter—a sparklike touch on a bare arm—vines
that entwine trees and bind their leafy crowns together
to a man from a foreign land
or the stinging poison of his lips
moonlike
ceaseless rain swamps the night
wail—that unbroken sound—it’s only Padma’s ribs cracking
a pair of snakes