If you do not come back (যদি তুমি ফিরে না আসো)
You will forget me, I can not even think of it.
Wiping me away from your heart
you will be
hanging out here and there, strolling in the corridor, looking at
your face in the mirror, curling your locks with fingers, observing
the endless path of a groove lost through the parting of your hairs, observing
the city of silver dazzling in your palm,
Wiping me away from your heart
you will be blossoming daffodils in the plateau of your existence
I can not stand the mere thought of it.
Whenever I think, you may forget me
Suddenly someday,
Like a forgotten novel you have
read long ago, fright
appears in front of me wearing a dreadfully dark robe,
And clogs my brain from corner to corner,
A wild horse wounds my chest with strikes after strikes of it’s hoofs,
And my woeful howls of pain after a time
tiredly dwindles away swirling over me, like
the shouts of an astray wanderer evaporate in a wide empty desert.
I accept no farewell
I want you to come back
swimming through the ocean of remembrance and oblivion
waving the wind with your rushing gown, silencing every obscene shout
every gross dispute
Come back to me, come back
to my dreamy garret
blend with my beats.
My eyes are calling you like a fatigued bird in a drowsy noon– come to me,
My hands, like a grieving violin, calling you– come to me,
My lips, like a dry thirsty fountain, calling you– come back to me.
If you do not come back
Tagore’s every floral wreath of words
will disperse and will get lost to nothingness flapping harshly,
Sighing emptiness
will replace the spots of every painting in the art-galleries,
Every sculpture from every sculptor will turn back into lifeless stones,
Every Sitar, Sarod, Guitar, Violin
will turn into useless pieces of wood dumped in an ignored corner.
If you do not come back,
Breasts of every cattle will dry out,
Every goose will loose their feathers,
Fishes will stop reproducing.
If you do not come back,
Not even a single penny will be deposited in the relief-fund,
No tin of baby food will contain milk-powders,
but crawling insects.
If you do not come back
Every painter in the world will totally forget
the divine grammar of mixing hues, every poets’ writing pad
will contain swarms of dead flies instead of verses.
If you do not come back
Every young girl of the land
will turn toothless and old within a blink,
Every young man will take sleeping pills
in a deadly dose or will hang themselves.
If you do not come back,
With teary eyes in dawn’s chilling wind, Nazrul
will confoundedly ferry newspapers from door to door.
If you do not come back,
Every river and lake of this moist earth will turn arid,
Every field of crops of this green fertile land
will turn into sand-dunes
Every tree will turn into fossils,
Every twitter into clay-birds.
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