Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Syed Abdul Halim

Zibrail At Andromeda

Azazel laughed at me for being an ‘attar’ seller
Azazel is evil,
These days he laughs at everyone.
Wants to destroy itself in laughter,
In blood collected in an earthen pot,
The blood where floods the wondrous cells of life
Where it is experienced
Spanning six hundred crore light-year
The blooming scent of flowers.

On my wings the tiredness of two billion light-years
Of pale, dwarf stars!
As if I stepped on the grass of the moment
A broken drop of scarlet, citrus dew
Like an arrow I passed through
The ancient space of the milkyway.
The screams of blood-tinged demon planets
The murky tunnel of the soul of the demoness of darkness
As if it licked with an unseen tongue its own death.
The revealed heart of desire and contentment
The endlessness of the excessiveness. I’m without a body,
In the unspeakable haste of the journey, I turn to ashes.

Not the business of ‘attar’
I had a surprising hobby of harvesting
Roses.
Even when squeezing just a flower I
Never could lean how to make a drop of fragrance.
Colliding in the ancient milky way
As if crossing the mud-filled lanes of Chesamukh
The wheels of the bullock cart
Sprinkling of mud and water, washed over by the rain
Where is buried
The tiny family of the smaller sun
On whose piece of land, covering it with fences of time
I had planted numerous roses.
In the hearts of the animals that
Burn in nuclear blaze,
In the palace of fountains
On the face of the famished beggar boy of Jambu Dweep!
Even when squeezing just a flower I
Never could lean how to make a drop of fragrance.

This gathering of Andromeda’s planets among the crores of constellations
This shore
Crossing the pitch dark ocean of loneliness
That dream that doesn’t have an end, nibbles each atom of my body
Each beat of the heart,
That animal heart of billion of planets!
Even I’m dark, stony, I’m without body
Blaze in brightness in the thorny bush.
Numerous offspring of uncountable suns
Springs up like a forest
In the burial ground of solitude!
Floats, riding the boat, the indigo sage of the space
Burning in the funeral pyre of the heart the indigo scream.

Next to it lights up an empty pool of the light of boundless boundary!
I? I’m as if Sofura’s husband
Rob the palace of fountains!

>>>>
Zibrail: Also known as Gabriel, an archangel
Andromeda: The Andromeda Galaxy is a spiral galaxy approximately 2.6 million light-years (2.5×1019 km) from Earth in the constellation Andromeda
Azazel: An Old Testament evil spirit in the wilderness to whom a scapegoat was sent on the Day of Atonement
Attar also known as ittar is a natural perfume oil derived from botanical sources. Most commonly these oils are taken from the botanical material through hydro or steam distillation. In Ain-e-Akbari, Abul Fazal, has mentioned that Akbar used ittar daily and burnt incense sticks in gold and silver censers. A princess's bath was incomplete without incense and ittar. A very popular ittar with the Mughal princes was ood, prepared in Assam.
Chesamukh: Name of a tiny village in Assam
Jambu Dweep; The ancient name for the Indian subcontinent
Sofura: ?


>>>
And I surrender. This is one of the most difficult poems I’ve read in Assamese. I’m not sure if I’ve understood the nuances. This is mostly a line-by-line translation. And I’ve no clues who ‘Sofura’ is!

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