TRANSLATION: NAZEEM MUSA
Alfred Khokon, an eminent poet from Bangladesh, was born in 1971 in the village of Goila, in the district of Barisal. He has authored a good number of books. His poems have been translated into various languages including English and Swedish. His poems have appeared in diverse publications and literary journals. Khokon obtained his MA in Bangla literature under the University of Dhaka. He edits a literary magazine called Nanadan. In addition, his professional career began with journalism for a national daily. Currently he works at a national television channel as the head of program.
I crave down simple poems
Such that,
the words are alike and do not climb one another
unlike what men do.
Hi wintry weather and you too seasons, your given name needs to modify
because by similar names, are available my numerous poetries.
And under the same bedspread are mornings with Monroe and even Andre Gide.
Blackboards are modern and inventive. Same calculation
can be erased repeatedly.
An alteration to transform name, will erase my broken-down pains
one forename, one duster
Up till now were we taught mathematics by the mistaken teacher
Not important I still grip hands with one I did in the past
for a walk, I rather hold up to keep a tidy relation;
Neat relations bring in strong memories. Anyone’s
departure is an adjustment, one that requires Band-Aid.
Latest named hospitals should properly cure individual’s previous pains
doctors are good a jury of situations
Come this spring will I appeal again, a fresh new name is essential to me
The moon hasn’t set yet
The breeze isn’t temperate
The roads are dazzling
No even glimpse of likely rain
The dawn was ordinary
left as early after knocking the door,
but should not be remembered now.
And yet not for you
has my heart opened that blue colored shop,
just when I was writing all these
on the blank pages of the history
came flying a piece of hair on my diary;
When I script flying fireflies
they say, have you not found any new topic.
When on hands and will power
they say, where are men in that?
So I kept writing this way
with a hair on my diary
and so I kept writing
avoided the secret mistakes –
This writing was published Last Friday
The hair was omitted by the daily aged editor
The sky can be seen through the window
Sky is just another concept
The wind can be seen through the window
Wind is unbeatable
You can be seen through window
But not from the inside
Nothing can be seen through the window
when outside is unoccupied
Dark late night spray rain drops in my mind
In darkness fall leaves from favorite trees in my mind
In darkness are secret finger touches in my mind
In darkness the nights get deep in my mind
In darkness can you and I, both see our everything in my mind
Again will I return for your updates
as girl who forget her red lace
after ages do one remember any, confused
open the trunk to bring back previous memories
observing mass on an occasion- do anyone
recognize him- as the old artist again engraves
those who gave words, who hold hands and said,
remember this very day , full moon is a starlight
existed no love, was the evening messy -
She came by the station to greet me a farewell;
her hands never expressed the inner desires
as my numerous writing on inexpressible broken evenings
someday, everyday as heart beats; you will overlook one day
on a seasonal fertile Fall as the leave duct glossy desire.
Based in Winnipeg, Nazeem Musa, a Bangladeshi-Canadian translator, was born in 1988. He has educated on Journalism, Media Communication and Marketing Management from Independent University Bangladesh, University of Greenwich, London and University of Winnipeg, Canada.
