The Wild Duck in Pain
by Shahinur Islam
The wild duck in pain flaps his wings in deep water
and the wind comes to kiss his mild body nonstop
when he bobs up with soft kans grass scents on his beaks.
Yet the eyes of the hunter just aim at his breast
for which drunkenness? Deep darkness descends around,
the egrets fly away responding to their flock;
the magical dew fallen on the sands beckons
being at the distance of a life. At that time
the pain-puzzled deaf wild duck fumbles only for
the resonance of his own wings desperately.
It goes in vain— the cry of the night goes in vain
to the ears of the hunter; in the breeze of dawn
perhaps the fragrance of his life will drift no more.
And in the daylight there will not any more flash
all pain and joy of the feathers splashing water.
A memory of unknown time seems to come at last
and asks: where and when have you seen such a darkness?
All the dark nights of the earth gathered together
seem nothing to it— no darkness since earth was born.
The world’s pain seems to touch the body of last pain
in defeat and is floored at its feet pale-faced.
At the night’s first hour, the hunter pulls his trigger;
then the heat of the body of the duck just hides
wholly in the womb of the night in a moment
and all his pain falls along with his last feather.