Poems by Kamalesh Sarkar

Translated from the original Rajbangshi language by Jyotirmoy Prodhani

A Poet You Are

Poet,
come down to the dust
and watch the shades of the setting sun.

Poet,
walk down that path
and watch the lives lived by men.

I Want To Become A Sky

I want to become a sky
a sky I do want to become—
broad and wide

I want to become the wind
the wind I do want to become—
makes my body so light

I want to become the earth
the earth I do want to become—
everybody wipes their feet in dust on the ground

The Splashing Tales Of Flowing Water

Only a poet knows about
the tales splashed along a flowing stream.
The poet knows the tongue
simple like the course of a languid river.

This land is nothing but gold
its dust is nurtured by ancestor’s grail,
seven-generation-old.
The poet knows,
even if strange becomes the hearth
woods will be there to become a home of warmth.

At Bhubandanga

Jatin, Atindra wrote me a letter—
Come over one day at Bhubandanga
we shall take a walk together.

Atindra wrote me a letter—
Don’t go to the haat
for by its edge there flows a river.

Life is quite different out there,
some write poetry
some paint pictures.

Life is quite different out there,
come over one day
we shall sit on the grass and
by the road shall we relax for a while,
sitting in the bosom of a dead stream
we shall reflect deep.

Life is quite different out there,
come over one day at Bhubandanga
we shall take a walk together.

The Wheels Of The Cart Move

The wheels of the cart move,
let it be.
Down that tiny strip
life these days
is a warm affair,
a lyrical lore.

Travelers To Nidanpur

Taramohan,
the days have just passed by
where should we go now, Taramohan?
How far is it to Nidanpur?
We are fellow travelers to the place.

Where do we go from here, Taramohan?
Our Kashems and Binods wish to get back to life again
in the sweet shadow of Ramadan’s beaming crescent.

They wish to listen to the
erotic songs of all seasons of Phoolmatibai,
they wish to see Chandbibi’s happy countenance.

Now where should we go, Taramohan?
How far is it to Nidanpur?

Amidst the twittering of the birds
ring the songs of the bygone nights
and the setting sun.

Oh dear, the beetle nuts and
beetle leaves are very much there,
inside the crevices of my heart.