While stuck in the traffic jam at Bijoy Sharani, I ride
my bicycle away to a tranquil village, in search
of Jibanananda Das. The very next moment, I am
taken back in front of tenth-grader Ranu, I then an
eighth-grader. Shivering down my knee I ask her, Apu,
are you fine? As if, inquiring after a neighbour’s health
is a big crime. I take a bath in the sea at the Laboni
Point,
with me swims my jovial wife. Within moments I am
on dry land, walking amidst fog smeared with moon-
light, fire burning inside my soul, I tell so much to my
friend! In late winter I see a
flock of snipes searching the Earth’s soul on a marsh.
I return to the bus, tired, after observing all these,
the city chariot doesn’t move an inch, outside the
sunshine is unkind
A butterfly came straight out of the elevator that day
and it felt like a magic taking place in front of my
eyes. High-rises, arches disappeared in a flash. Pho-
tons rained down incessantly across the retina of my
eyes. Bathed in sunrays, I saw I was sitting at the tea
stall of my memories, hand on my chin, I kept won-
dering: when did the butterfly change from wearing
frock to saree.
A sparrow flew far away
Leaving the balcony
The city saw a downpour
A girl drifted some lost music in the air
Dense with cloud
The sound of nupur was heard on our yard
And I–
While the game of Ludu became exciting
I saw the sparrow dancing, the girl flying
*Meghmallar is the name of a raga
Sadat Sayem is a poet and journalist from Dhaka, Bangladesh.
