Poem
Ranajit Das
HISTORY
Sitting on the terrace, I see the night sky. Relentless, unbearable Baisakh. The dried-up potted flower plant stands in a dark corner, like the pickpocket boy at Sealdah station. The whole city waits for rain. Broken white clouds fly at unflagging pace down the dark-blue skyway of the night. As if a gigantic magic lantern picture. Incessant, this group of clouds has been passing for the last two nights. As the procession of border-crossing refugees of 1947. That tallish cloud is my grandfather, that swift cloud my father, that straggling tired cloud my mother. Late at night two magnificent aristocratic clouds floated past side by side – looking like Nehru and Edwina Mountabatten.
© Translation: 2011, Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: Rupa and Co, New Delhi, 2011
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: Rupa and Co, New Delhi, 2011
ইতিহাস
ইতিহাস
ছাতে বসে দেখছিরাত্রির আকাশ । একটানা দুঃসহ বৈশাখ । শুকিয়ে-যাওয়া টবের ফুলগাছটিদীড়িয়ে আছে অন্ধকার কোণে, শেয়ালদা স্টেশনের পকেটমার ছেলেটির মতো বৃষ্টির
প্রতীক্ষা করছে সমস্ত শহর । রাত্রির ঘননীল আকাশপথে অবিশ্রান্ত গতিতে উড়ে যাচ্ছে
খণ্ড খণ্ড সাদা মেঘ। যেন অতিকায় ম্যাজিক লষ্ঠনের ছবি। বিরামহীন, গত দু'রাত ধরেই
চলেছে এই মেঘের দল। যেন ৪৭ সালের সীমাত্ত-পেরিয়ে-আসা উদ্বাস্তুদের মিছিল!
ওই লম্বাটে মেঘটি আমার ঠাকুরদা, ওই দ্রুতগামী মেঘটি আমার বাবা, ওই
পিছিয়ে-পড়া ক্লান্ত মেঘটি আমার মা।
অনেক রাতে ভেসে গেল সুঠাম, অভিজাত দু'টি মেঘ পাশাপাশি-_-মনে হল নেহরু
আর এডুইনা মাউন্টব্যাটেন।
© 1987, Ranajit Das
From: Bandover Kathyabhasha (Dialect of the Port)
Publisher: Ranajit Das, Kolkata
From: Bandover Kathyabhasha (Dialect of the Port)
Publisher: Ranajit Das, Kolkata
Poems
Poems of Ranajit Das
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HISTORY
Sitting on the terrace, I see the night sky. Relentless, unbearable Baisakh. The dried-up potted flower plant stands in a dark corner, like the pickpocket boy at Sealdah station. The whole city waits for rain. Broken white clouds fly at unflagging pace down the dark-blue skyway of the night. As if a gigantic magic lantern picture. Incessant, this group of clouds has been passing for the last two nights. As the procession of border-crossing refugees of 1947. That tallish cloud is my grandfather, that swift cloud my father, that straggling tired cloud my mother. Late at night two magnificent aristocratic clouds floated past side by side – looking like Nehru and Edwina Mountabatten.
© 2011, Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: 2011, Rupa and Co, New Delhi
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: 2011, Rupa and Co, New Delhi
HISTORY
Sitting on the terrace, I see the night sky. Relentless, unbearable Baisakh. The dried-up potted flower plant stands in a dark corner, like the pickpocket boy at Sealdah station. The whole city waits for rain. Broken white clouds fly at unflagging pace down the dark-blue skyway of the night. As if a gigantic magic lantern picture. Incessant, this group of clouds has been passing for the last two nights. As the procession of border-crossing refugees of 1947. That tallish cloud is my grandfather, that swift cloud my father, that straggling tired cloud my mother. Late at night two magnificent aristocratic clouds floated past side by side – looking like Nehru and Edwina Mountabatten.
© 2011, Nirmal Kanti Bhattacharjee
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: 2011, Rupa and Co, New Delhi
From: A Summer Nightmare and Other Poems
Publisher: 2011, Rupa and Co, New Delhi
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