The pen is mightier...
(Image by (From Wikimedia) Mushki Brichta, Author: Mushki Brichta) Details Source DMCA
"Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world."
-- Percy Bysshe Shelley, 'A Defence of Poetry'
"...poetry makes nothing happen..."
-- W H Auden, 'In Memory of W. B. Yeats'
Under the mango tree
My elders always
warned me
not to climb
trees at twilight
when the cows
come home...
they say that
that's when
satan lurks
in the branches
But the branches
were so heavy
with mangoes!
The green sward
miled away
towards the
villages
their tin or
thatched roofs
peeping between
areca palms
bamboo groves and
jackfruit trees
Smoke rose
in spirals
from a
housewife's
earthen stove
above the trees
into the cyan
sky
The orange
yolk of sun
descended
with dignity
and opposite
the silver
eggshell of moon
ascended with
modesty
The cuckoo
uttered its
last calls
shadows lengthen
shadows lengthen
A king crow
caught its
last insects
jetting upward
then diving down
with its prey
between its beaks
to rest on a branch
I reclined on
a high limb
the foliage
like a hut
around me
the mango tasted
sour
but the smell
nearly
inebriated
The wind soughed
like a premonition
I heard people
moving below
"We told you
to have the
money ready"
"Please please"
"We gave you
two days
don't you
know who
we are?"
"Yes yes yes
you are good
boys
good students
from the
high school..."
"We're with
the ruling party
you bastard"
"We're student
activists
big men in
the party
and you
have to
die"
"I'll pay you
two lakh takas..."
"You had your
chance
you must set
an example
the party needs
money"
Silence
I couldn't
hear the
crickets
As though
they too
were
incredulous
My fingers
felt the branch
like a woman's
glass bangle
The rough surface
against my
clammy palm
telegraphed safety
My lungi was wet
with sweat
in the humid
air
The men below
hacked and grunted
until the moon
was nearly
overhead
Thunder growled
somewhere
but it didn't rain
I was thirsty
The next day
seven parts
of a human
body were
found in
the paddy fields
A few days
later the
head was dug
up by a dog
but the face
was unrecognisable
They were boys
from my school
I played football
with them
But I never
climbed a
mango tree
at twilight
again
V
V is for votes
V is for victory
V is for violence
V is for virgin
raped by the boys
from the party
that won the most votes
V is for violence
V is for voice
that no one heard
V is for verdant
rice-fields
where they found her
dead
V is for voiceless
V is for the storks
in echelon
over her grave
V is for venom
of mother
burying her child
V is for virtue
V is for vice
V is for vengeance
V is for voters
who are never wrong
Among the Fireflies
I'll never forget
the night
The air smelled
of young paddy
half-grown in
the wet fields
The fireflies
performed their
mating dances
among the stalks
mimicking stars
in the moonless
unclouded sky
Heaven and earth
were aflame
How welcome was
the breeze on that
sultry night!
the paddy murmured
to its caress
I knew my way
to my uncle's
house in the next
village, so I didn't
switch on the torch
Then I stopped
I heard a gurgling
sound proceed from
the darkness ahead
My mouth went dry
my hands perspired
I walked swiftly
into the wet fields
and lay in the mud
I could make out
figures walking
past me
I recognised their
voices
They were boys from
my school, student
politicians, my age
fifteen
I waited, then came
out and walked towards
my uncle's village
I wanted a bath
in his pond
and to change
my muddy lungi
I stumbled over
something and fell
my torch worked
It was a boy's head
the body lay a few feet away
I knew him, too
a student activist
I told no one
but bathed in my
uncle's pond
shivering in
summer
Kerosene
Last night I was
in my slum
There was a 24-
hour hartal
which meant that
any vehicle on
the roads would
be demolished
by the opposition
party activists
The night was muggy
for the sky was clear
with stars
A rickshaw puller
came pedalling up
the road, the rickshaw
squeaking
A group of student
politicians stopped
him and made him
get off
They sprinkled kerosene
on the rickshaw and
the rickshaw puller
began to wail
he pleaded with them
They laughed and lit
a match, and the rickshaw
burst into flames
The rickshaw puller
was frantic - it was
his only source of
income - and he
tried to put out
the fire
Then the boys poured
kerosene on his
body - his lungi and
vest were drenched
I could smell the
kerosene
Then the boys lit
a match and set
him on fire
He shrieked
After a few minutes
he smelled like
shish kebab
over glowing charcoal
fanned by the breeze
I wanted to help
him, but I knew
that if I did,
I would be burnt
alive as well
Among the paddy
Last night I went
to the paddy fields
to relieve myself
The moon was full
and the paddy glowed
It murmured in the wind
the night was hot
Then I heard the boys
I could see them
but they couldn't see me
where I was squatting
The girl was begging them
and they were laughing
They ripped off her clothes
and lifted their lungis
and took turns
I recognised them
they were boys from
the ruling party
the MP's vote bank
Finally, when they were
satisfied they pulled out
a knife that gleamed
in the moonlight
They slit her throat
When the boys were
gone I crept out
and ran
I didn't tell the police
the police know,
anyway, but they
dare not do anything
Besides, if I told the
police, they would kill
me, like the girl
Fear of young men
I was afraid
of young men
if I saw several
approaching
I crossed
the street
On vacations
I looked over
my shoulder
again and again
if there were
young men
behind
They could slit
your belly
or chop
you up
into several
hundred pieces
They could rape
and kill
For the parties
had turned
young men
into
young animals
Exploiting fully
the age of
criminality
between
sixteen and
thirty-five
The age of
animality
Now that military
rule has returned
I don't cross
the street
or look over
my shoulder
But I mustn't
lose the habit
for the western
donors
want the beasts
back
released
2
