Poverty (Daridro)
Thou hast made me honoured like Christ
With his crown of thorns. Thou hast given me
Courage to reveal all. To thee I owe
My insolent, naked eyes and sharp tongue.
Thy curse has turned my violin to a sword.
O proud Saint, thy terrible fire
Has rendered my heaven barren.
It has prematurely dried my beauty.
My feelings and my life.
Time and again I stretched my lean, cupped hands
To accept the gift of the beautiful.
But those hungry ones always came before me.
And did snatch it away ruthlessly.
Now my world of imagination is
Dry as a vast desert.
And my eyes rain down fire
on my own beautiful!
My yellow-stalked pensive desire
Wants to blossom like the fragrant shefali.
But thou cruel one
Dost ruthlessly break the soft stalk
As the woodcutter chops the branches
Off the trees. My heart grows tender
Like the autumn morning.
It fills with love
Like the dew-laden earth.
But thou art the blazing sun
And thy fiery heart dries up the tiny drop of mercy.
I grow listless in the shadowy skirt of the earth
And my dreams of beauty and goodness vanish!
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. Excerpts from translations by Professor Kabir Chowdhury