January 22, 2018

Reviving the Ruined

poem

Reviving the Ruined

by Shahinur Islam


O Rain! You drenched much the dry land,

fields, meadows, forests, wilderness

overflowed the ponds, the rivers,

the canals, the fens, the wetlands

for thousand years— sometimes freely

sometimes on the pretext of freaks.

Drench my heart this time as you did

my forefathers to senseless joy,

gave leisure to compose sad songs

for the absence of their dear ones,

to wash away their deep sorrow

to sing in their stentorian voice

Bhatiali, Bhawaiya music

and so many great rainy songs

while riding the raft pushed in floods

or at great adda of full noon.

Drench my mind-desert just like this,

I don’t care about my body.

If you come down, I’ll get— leisure,

freedom from urban rattling tiredness,

fertile laziness. I’ll glean beauties

of life only. My heart has dried

much earlier— but lived as pieces

on a tattered sheet of the world.

Drench me in the sodden leisure.

If my body lives just like this,

my heart will be very short-lived.

And dead heart has nothing to give;

it pulls and drags the rest of life.

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