NASIMA SULTANA
You Said That the Map Would Be Mine
You said, that house would be mine;
the dark road, yellow house, blue curtains
in every room, neon lights,
freshly-bloomed roses in flower vases would be m.ine.
You said, that plot of land, field, farm, water-
hyacinth pond were mine, all mine;
by the front door a milch cow, a trellis covered
with bottle gourd,
night-times sleeping under the
§
iuli-tree
were mine alone.
Why did you say this?
Why did you say my hair would fly
in the salt-laden wind?
At Worldly Shores on the banks of the rippling river
I'll sit dangling my feet, closed up in my memories,
and never say a word.
But why have the dark road and yellow house
not come to be mine?
...Why not?
But why won't my hair fly in the slippery wind
of Worldly Shores?
Why won't it fly?
All by itself
my childhood won't play, sinking its face, sinking its hands
into the rice filling the granary. ..
Now I'm hungry, now I'm sleepy,
the map in my fist is getting soaked in sweat and blood.
You said that the map would be mine:
why did you say it?
Translated from the Bengali by Carolyne Wright
and Mohammad Nurul Huda
