Stressed-Out Time

Muhammad Nurul Islam

Original Poem: ‘Klanto Itihas’ by Rudra Mohammad Shahidullah
Translation: Muhammad Nurul Islam

The road everyone’s taken to return,
It won’t be mine to return,
Listening to sick music of breach
Soaked in rain to the head
Broken raft of Behula would return
To ancient belief.

What things can I take with me?

The love of a savvy woman from this sumptuous city
Wine.
Flesh.
Lips of a fake smile.
Air-conditioned love?

What things I can take with me!
The rusted corpse from this concrete world.
Illicit money.
Scam.
Godown of potatoes.
And this impotent politics?

Rabindranath caged in the bookshelf,
Sheaf of paddy hanging in the drawing room,
Alas! Bangladesh, you are hanging— my golden Bangla…
Over the dining table of some eunuch intellectuals, of ignorant leaders
A miserable Bangladesh has fallen on her face
Like a leftover bone.

I know this debt, only I have to repay,
Only I have to cross thousand miles shouldering this heaps of ruins.

I would go back.

The road everyone takes to return
In smiles, with songs.
With dear ones,
That road won’t be mine to return,
That road won’t be mine—
I must shoulder blood, sweat and piles of ruins
When I return.

I won’t return enjoying paddy fields through the window of train.
Listening to Bhatiali or Lalon in my tape recorder, I won’t return,
To fulfilling love or silent soothing songs, I would never return—

I must return shouldering sweat, blood, and the ruins of time
Like the last soldier, lonely and stressed-out time.