Saturday, August 19, 2006

In Memory of Shamsur

Mask

Shower me with petals and heap bouquets around me,
I won't complain.
Unable to move,
I won't ask you to stop
And if butterflies or swarms of flies
settle on my nose I will not brush them away.

Indifferent to the scent of jasmine and benjamin,
to rose-water and loud lamenting,
I lie supine with sightless eyes
while the man who will wash me
scratches his ample behind.
The youthfulness of the lissome maiden,
her firm breasts untouched by grief,
no longer inspires me to chant
nonsensical rhymes in praise of life.

You can cover me head to foot with flowers,
my finger won't rise in admonishment.
I will shortly board a truck for a visit to Banani.
A light breeze will touch my lifeless bones.
I am the broken nest of a weaver-bird,
dreamless and lonely on the long verandah.
If you wish to deck me up like a bridegroom
go ahead, I won't say no
Do as you please, only don't
alter my face too much with collyrium
or enbalming cosmetics.
See that I am
just as I am - don't let another face
emerge through the ruins of my own.

Look! The old mask under whose pressure I passed my life,
that weary handmaiden of anxiety,

has peeled off at last -
for God's sake don't fix on me another.



From: Selected Poems of Shamsur Rahman.
Originally translated by Kaiser Haq.

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