I’ll stand a while
Syed Shamsul Haq
Translated by Shamsad Mortuza
I’ll stand a while and then take my leave
I’ll just stop by before I proceed
No, I am not here to stay;
This isn’t my travel’s end;
I’ll stand a while
And take my leave
From here.
I’ll go
Away from your very city
Away from the calculation of your march past
And the rotating blades of helicopters
–Rapidly
I’ll go
Away from the ticker-tapes
Prying from the windows of your commercial blocks
–Now
I’ll go
Away from the ever watchful
Computers containing my
Bio-data
–Immediately
I’ll go
Just the way I was going before
Slowly and slowly
Taking quite a long time
I shall move through one
Two
Three
Generations.
I promise
I’ll not kiss any of your woman;
I promise
I’ll not carry any of your child on my lap
I promise
I’ll not apply for any of your apartment
I’ll not apply for a loan from your bank
I’ll not try to become a member of your Council
I’ll not take part in your polls
And I further promise
I’ll not give any talk on your radio
I’ll not feed any info in your computer
I’ll not try to ride your helicopters
I’ll not drum up during your march past.
It aches me to be in your apartments
It aches me to use your oven
It aches me to be at your bank
It aches me to be in your Council
It aches me to find myself in your mirror
It aches me to drink from your glass
It aches me to be with your women
It aches me to be with your children.
I’ll just stand a while and see –
After all, the view is just a part of my journey back home,
I’ll go home,
Your city just happens to be a part of my journey —
I’ll move on now.
The apartments you have, I know, lack roofs
The ovens you have, I know, lack fire
The banks you have, I know, lack wealth
The Councils you have lack consensus
The mirrors you have shed no reflections
The glasses you have drop no drink
I know
Your women lack the ability to bear any child
I know
Your children do not hold a single grain of crops
For two or three generations
I have felt
More than one wars—one peace
More than one famines—one crops
More than one stillness—one voice
More than one genocides—one boat
More than one flags—one freedom
In the badly bruised body of mine
To progress slowly-
Towards a house that doesn’t fall apart
Towards an oven that doesn’t snuff out
Towards a bank that doesn’t go bust
Towards a council that doesn’t declare war
Towards a mirror that reflect
Towards a glass that offer the desired drink
Towards a woman who has just let down her hair
Towards a child who has just got wet in the rain.
This movement of mine
Is actually through yours.
Night after night I proceed like an alert animal
Seeking water under the moon
Tearing silence apart like cobwebs
I am walking like a prisoner in a cave
Guided by the sound of the water.
I don’t know whether at the end of the road
There awaits a woman or just her severed umbilical cord
I don’t know whether I shall see at the end
A moon in the lake or a skull in the mud.
Still I need to move on,
I need to go, with all the wounds in my body.
While moving through the city
If I chance upon a couple
Whose song is ready to be borne by the wind
I may feel like stopping a while—
As I too wanted to be a couple.
If I chance upon torn pieces of paper
That have entrapped the words some a poet
I may feel like stopping awhile—
As I too gripped a pen to write a poem.
If I chance upon a white flower
That has the strong scent to paint the dark night
I may feel like stopping a while—
As I too dreamt of a garden.
I am being called by a woman who is prepared for the night
I must go;
I am being called by a paper who is inviting me for a poem
I must go;
I am being called by a garden who is ready with all its plants
I must go;
I am being called by a child
I am being called by a State
I am being called by a mirror to appear before it
So after stopping for a while I shall keep on going
Just the way I was going before
Slowly and slowly
Taking quite a long time
I shall move through one
Two
Three
Generations.
My path has always passed through yours;
I have stopped and moved to take my own.