LIŠĆE

Lišće pada, pada cijeli dan… lišće

Baka mete
i skuplja više od lišća

Je li ovo čudo, kako ga zovete –
nešto više od lišća
koje baka sakuplja, i sakuplja
Noć se gomila sa lišćem

Noćas će biti vatrometa
Ljudi će zagrijati svoja tijela
i osušiti svoje rane

Iracionalna susjedstva će se natrpati
Uporni razgovori će se raspaliti
zagrijavajući se do azurnog neba

zagrijavajući se do neba punog zvijezda

Naporni teret
udaje svojih kćeri ispraće se
U svakoj kući biće svadbe
Nježna zima meka kao usna djeteta, poslijepodne u sariju
objesiće makrame na granama smeđeg drveta

Baka skuplja sve ovo –
blagoslove persijskog ljiljana, svete motive,
filigranske listove,

čisto selo
gdje su djevojke nevezane

Lišće pada cijeli dan, lišće pada cijele godine…

Translated to Montenegrin by Anđela Turukalo Dabetić
…………………………………………..

LEAVES

Jhelum Tribedi

English translation by Moulinath Goswami.

The leaves fall, they fall all day… leaves

grandma sweeps
and gathers more than leaves

Is this wonder, that you call –
Something more than leaves
the grandmother gathers, and gathers
The night piles up with leaves

There’ll be a bonfire tonight
people will warm their bodies
and dry their wounds…

The irrational neighbourhood shall throng
dogged discussions fire up
warming up to the azure

warming up to the sky filled stars…

The arduous burden
of marrying off their daughters shall wash away
There will be weddings in every house
tender winter soft as a child’s lip, the latent afternoon-saree
shall hang macramé from the branches of the brownish tree

The grandma gathers all these –
blessings of Persian lilac, holy motifs
filigreed leaves,

A chaste thorp
where girls are unchained

leaves fall all day, leaves fall throughout the year…

*****

পলতাপাতা

ঝিলম ত্রিবেদী
……………………………

পাতা খসে, সারাদিন পাতা খসে পাতা…

ঠাকুরমা ঝাঁট দেয়
জড়ো করে পাতার অধিক কিছু

একে কি বিস্ময় বলে?

পাতার অধিক এই কিছু
জড়ো করে ঠাকুরমা, জড়ো করে, সারারাত ভরে ওঠে পাতা

রাত্রে আগুন হবে
সেঁকবে শরীর আর ঘা
মানুষেরা

রাত্রে আগুন হবে স্থির আলোচনা
বসবে অবুঝপারা পাড়া
পোহাবে আকাশিরঙ

পোহাবে আকাশময়ী তারা

ভেসে যাবে কন্যাদায়
সকলের ঘরে বিয়ে হবে
শিশুর ঠোঁটের মতো কচি শীত, নিহিত দুপুর-শাড়ি
বাদামি গাছের ডালে, ডালে ডালে, ঝালর ঝোলাবে

এ ই স ব
জড়ো করে ঠাকুরমা
পাতার উপর কারুপাতা
আলপনা জড়ো করে, ঘোড়ানিম গাছের আশিস

পাড়াটি পুণ্যবতী
মেয়েরা শিকলহীন হেথায়

পাতা খসে সারাবেলা, বারোমাস পাতা খসে যায়…

**********

To put is very simply, I am a poet. Nothing but a poet. This is my only vocation, occupation. Writing poetry is the objective of my existence. But then I write for other people too – marginalised people, who exist as mere nameless faces around us. I spent hours in roadside tea-stalls by the railway stations, or by a river, and listen to the saga of these voiceless people who come for a cup of tea. Their immense sorrows and their little joys manifest themselves in the poems I write.

I only wish that the world remembers me as a poet who wrote for the huge multitude who were born as mere faces, and who died as mere faces.

The main malady that acts as an invisible, gigantic barrier to peace is a person’s unending craving for more. More power, more wealth, more fame, more food. No sooner than his one want is fulfilled he is craving for more, and more. He is caught in a fresh desire for something else. it is an insatiable hunger. The entire focus of his existence is getting centered around his desire for more. Not achieving it, is leading to frustration, dejection, desperation. Despite being a social entity, he is not thinking for the society at large, but is thinking about satisfying his own desires and wants. Since it is impossible that one’s every want will be fulfilled, this is breeding an unreasoning unrest in people’s mental make-up, which is reflected through the various incidents of intolerance, discord, insurgency and turmoil, not only in India, but globally. This basic moral poverty in a person, fuelled by economic disparity, lack of equal opportunity, social exploitation, politically motivated vendetta and religious discrimination is ripping my country apart with discontent and tension at every socio-economic strata.

Restoring peace in a country is a herculean task, but not impossible. Perhaps the solution lies in the moral up-gradation of a person, in the awakening of his conscience. We have become technological giants, but have remained as moral dwarfs. Where every country has not laid due emphasis in their academic syllabus is on the sphere of moral education. Even if it is there, the approach is lackadaisical, to say the least. Then there is religious intolerance. Moral education should be stressed upon in every school, from the kindergarten level upwards, with the same importance and priority with which mathematics, science or language is taught. The objective should be that one’s conscience never goes to sleep as he grows up and enters the ruthlessly complicated maze called life.

Poetry can help achieve this goal. It is certainly a potent weapon to rage war against war, and bring about peace in the world. Poetry has this power to connect souls across geographical barriers. Had it not been so, then a person like me, sitting in one remote corner of India, would never have connected to the people of Bosnia. Through poetry one can spread the word of peace and love across all quarters, staring with the awakening of consciousness towards all that is just and good inside one’s own, infecting one’s neighbour with the same enlightenment, and gradually affecting the collective conscience of an entire country.Poetry is the mirror through which we see our soul, we see our self.

1. Niruddesh Somporkito Ghoshona, Bengali poetry collection (2015)
2. Brishti Pora Bari, Bengali poetry collection (2020)
3. Akhrot, Bengali poetry collection (2021)
4. Nawabgunj, poetry collection translated in English by Moulinath Goswami (2023)

YES