Dho'n ahoro'n'-ধন আহরণ

   

ধন আহরণ

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গরিব বলে, ‘বাঁচতে দাও, 

চাপের চোটে মরি।‘ 

ধনী বলে, ‘খেটে খাও, 

নই বা ডাকো হরি।‘ 

.

এই জীবনে খাটনি আছে, 

মানি  সেটা, তবে 

খাটলে পরেই রেহাই পাবো? 

ভাবলেই কি তা হবে?

.

আলস আছে, খাটিয়ে আছে। 

থাকবে সদা তাই।

তাই ব'লে কি এক হয় গরিব,  

অন্য ধনী, ভাই?

.

******

এক দিনে, তো গরীব, ধনীর 

ঘন্টা আছে সমান।

ক’গুন খাটনি সম্ভব, সেটা 

করবে কি ভাই প্রমাণ?

.

ধনীর খাটনি গরিবের থেকে 

কগুন হতে পারে?

দেখেছি তো, শ্রমিক কাহিল, 

গাধা-খাটনির ভারে।

.

তিন গুণ যদি বলো, আমি 

মানবো, তবে হ্যাঁগো, 

বেজস-বাবু কত খাটে, 

অংক কষে দেখো।

.

নিজের খাটনির জোরে, ধনী 

হওয়া কি এত সহজ?

অন্যের খাটনির জোরে হওয়া—

এতেই লাগে মগজ।

.

******

দশ জন যদি কর্মী থাকে,

দশ জন ভাড়াটে,

ধনী হওয়া সম্ভব এতে, 

খেটে—বা না খেটে।

.

শ্রমিক-সংখ্যা হাজার যখন, 

মজুদ, শেয়ারও তেমন, 

বেজসের দিকে চলবে তখন,

হাউইবাজি যেমন।

.

জানি, এত সহজ না, ভাই, 

সব জিনিসেই বিপদ।

ধনের জায়ু মেটায় তবু

অনেক পীড়ার আপদ।

.

দারিদ্র তে মিটবে না ভাই, 

সইতে হবে হেসে।

বেদম খেটে, রইতে হবে

গাড্ডা-কূপে শেষে।

.

******

ধন-আহরণ হরণ বুঝি?

না না, এ কি বলছো?

আমার মত, তুমিও খেটে 

ধন উপার্জন করছো।

.

চালাক আছে, চালু আছে।

কত রকম বুদ্ধি!

কারোর শুধু লোভ-ই আছে, 

অন্যের আছে শুদ্ধি।

.

তবুও প্রতি বিজ্ঞানে, ভাই, 

আইন আছে যেমন, 

অর্থনীতির খাতায় টানা 

লাইন আছে তেমন।

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খাটনি না ভাই, মগজ না ভাই, 

লাইন ধরে চলা--

এতেই ধনের বৃদ্ধি ঘটে, 

রইল আমার বলা।

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******

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খাটনি, মগজ লাগতে পারে। 

সব জিনিসেই তাই।

শুধু এতেই চলবে না, তাও।

লাইনে চলা চাই।

.

পকেট ভরা পয়সা হলে, 

চান্স টা অনেক ভালো।

পকেট খালি যাদের, তাদের

ভাগ্যটা ভাই কালো।

.

রক্ত দিয়ে, পোক্ত হয়ে, 

উপায় আছে, মানি।

কজন পারে, কজন মরে, 

সেই কথাটাও জানি।

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বৃহস্পতিবার, ২১ নভেম্বর, ২০১৯ খ্রি 

ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক

 .

I Wish That I Were Free Again

 
I Wish That I Were Free Again
 
I wish that I were free again
to climb up on the roof again
to try to fly my kite again
to see it dip and dive and then
to see it climb towards the sky,
to see the soaring clouds on high,
to watch the kite-hawks wheel and dive,
to watch the thunderstorm arrive,
to see the lightning flash and then
to hear the thunder crash and then
to see the birds go flying by,
to feel that wind from regions high,
to see my kite go down and die,
to reel the broken string and then
to flee the lightning and the rain—
I wish that I were free again
to climb up on the roof again
to feel that downdraft—bracing, cool,
to learn the things not taught at school
that I remember to this day
and will until I fade away—
to see the changing of the light,
to marvel at that eerie sight,
to see the storm approaching fast,
to dare to stay and be the last
to leave the roofs as lightning flashed
and roaring loud the thunder crashed,
to hear the sound of drumming rain
on roofs of tile and tin again,
to see the palm trees dance and sway,
to see how night was made from day,
to feel the rain, upon my skin,
that washed away this world of sin,
to leap in lashing, pouring rain,
to live that childhood once again,
I wish that I were free again—
but then I think of those not free
to climb up on the roofs like me,
who slept on pavements till the rain
came down upon them yet again,
who huddled then in misery,
and then I wake—from fantasy.

2016 September 2, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
   

Go`nga Nodir Tire—গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে—By the Banks of the Ganges—गंगा के किनारे—گنگا کے کنارے

The poem, in Bengali script, is followed by a recording, then by two Roman transcriptions, and finally by a free translation into English.

Note:  Translations into Hindi-Urdu (the Urdu being from the Hindi via http://google.com/translate ) have been added at the end of this post.

In the Hindi translation (written in Devanagari script), the words used are, with some exceptions, mainly those of the lingua franca spoken in many of the cities and villages of the northern and central subcontinent, rather than those of the more formal, Sanskritized Hindi.

This popular form of Hindi-Urdu, used by Hindus, Muslims and others, had fewer borrowings from Arabic and Farsi than literary Urdu. Some used to call it "Hindustani", before the Partition of 1947.  It is still very much in use, in both India and Pakistan, and is widely understood in both countries.

Comments, criticism and corrections are very much needed.  These can be made through the small "Post a comment." link near the bottom of this post (above the "Links to this post" heading), or via e-mail to sjanah@aol.com.
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Young Man by the Ganges, Facebook post by Arati Kumar-Rao
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10153535170976360&set=a.10150203885481360.312138.697771359
(Click the "See more" link at the end of the text in the Facebook post.)

   
গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে

গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে,
বইছে হাওয়া আজ৷
বসে আছি আশায় আমি,
মিলবে কবে কাজ?

স্রোতের জোর ত কমছে ক্রমে,
খরচা কমছে না৷
এপ্লিকেসান ভরছি রোজি,
জবাব পাচ্ছি না৷

বুধবার, ১৫-ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
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This might not be available on mobile phones and some networks.
To hear the audio recording in Google's Chrome browser:
  1) first, click the triangular play button on the right, above;
  2) then click either:
    a) that button again to play the audio in the background (on this page);
    or
    b) the rectangular button on the left, above, for audio at the Vocaroo site.
The procedure in other browsers might be slightly different.
Vocaroo: Record and upload audio >>
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Go`nga Nodir Tire

Go`nga nodir tire,
boiche haoa aj.
Boxe achi axae ami,
milbe ko`be kaj.

Sroter jor to komche kro`me,
kho`rca komche na.
E`plikexo`n bhorchi roji,
jo`bab pacchi na. 

Budhbār, 15-i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
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Gaṅgā Nadīr Tīrē

Gaṅgā nadīr tīrē,
ba'ichē hā'ōẏā āj.
Basē āchi āśāẏ āmi,
milbē kabē kāj?

Srōtēr jōr ta kamchē kramē,
kharca kamchē nā.
Ēplikēsān bharchi rōji,
jabāb pācchi nā.

Budhbar, 15-i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
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By the Banks of the Ganges

A breeze is blowing from the river.
I sit on the banks and think,
“When will I get a job?”

The river is slowing,
but expenses are not.
I fill out applications,
but I get no replies.

2016, June 15th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

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गंगा के किनारे

गंगा नदी के किनारों पर,
हवा बह रही है अब।
मैं बैठा रहा हूँ, इस उम्मीद मे --
एक नौकरी मिलेगी कब?

नदी की ताकत कमती रहती है,
लेकिन खर्चे बढ़ रहा है।
हर रोज, आवेदन भेजता रहता हूँ।
लेकिन जवाब मिलता नहीं है।

बुधवार, १५ जून, २०१६ ईस्वी
ब्रुकलीन, न्यूयॉर्क 

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    گنگا کے کنارے 

،گنگا دریا کے کناروں پر 

.ہوا بہہ رہی ہے اب 

-میں بیٹھا رہا ہو، اس امید میں 

ایک نوکری ملے گی کب؟ 

   

،دریا کی طاقت كمتي رہتی ہے 

.یکن خرچ بڑھ رہا ہے 

.ہر روز، درخواست بھیجتا رہتا ہوں 

.لیکن جواب حاصل نہیں ہے 

   

بدھ، ۱۵ جون، ۲۰۱۶ ء 

  بروک لین، نیویارک 

  

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Comments, criticism and corrections are very much needed.  These can be made through the small "Post a comment." link near the bottom of this post (above the "Links to this post" heading)  or via e-mail to sjanah@aol.com.

      

The Poet’s Complaint

The Poet’s Complaint

I met today, amidst the snow, a man I’ve known awhile,
Who stood in ragged clothes, while I was bundled head to feet.
A poet was this man, and when I asked him then, discreetly,
Why he did not dress like me, he answered, with a smile,

“I dress the same, no matter what the season.  There are trees
That clothe themselves throughout the year – yet are, in winter, bare.
But just as there are men like me, who, whistling, blizzards dare,
So there are evergreens, like pines, that winter cannot freeze.”

But I had grown impatient.  So I cleared my throat and said,
“I’ve known you now for many years, and so I’ll speak my mind.
‘To those who best apply themselves, to them is Fortune kind.’
If only you were working, you’d be better clothed and fed.”

The poet, he was silent for a moment.  Then he turned
Towards me and he smiled again, although I knew I’d wounded.
“There’s work and there is work,” he said, “and just with that, I’d end it.
But I have also known you long.  Our friendship, each has earned.

“And so, I’ll speak now seriously, no longer just in jest.
I feel I should explain myself, at least perhaps to you.
For I have lived for long – and so, with years remaining few,
I should not leave, misunderstood by those who knew me best.

“I’ve lived a life of poverty, as others often said,
And yet not lacked for anything, except what can’t be bought.
By most of the Enticements, I have never yet been caught,
Except the Muse of poetry, to whom I’ve long been wed.

“So when I’m dead, if burial of ashes then is fit,
Upon the tombstone, you can write, ‘He wrote his fill of verses,
And for this crime, received in time his fill of all our curses,
But never seemed to mind – or ever made an end of it.’

“And if my writings then are burned – or verses thrown in trash,
Remember then, that though I worked as hard as any other,
I never did, throughout my life, cause much by way of bother,
And neither did my labors or my verses garner cash.

“So if I’m judged by standards that are mercenary or
Derived from views that value only what is deemed ‘productive’,
Then surely I will be condemned.  For I was neither active
In such pursuits – nor think that these are all we’re living for.

“But if I still have one complaint, it then is surely this –
So many ways there are to live awhile and then to die,
And yet we spend our lives ensnared by every dressed-up lie,
While leaving naked truth aside – and so, our chance of bliss.”

I’d listened to his verses, in his singsong nasal mumble,
And when he stopped, I saw that he was shivering from cold.
And if I were a braver man, or harsher, then I'd scold
This poet for his foolishness – that came out in a jumble.

But being who I am, I only told him, “I have listened.
Perhaps you ought to hurry now, to where you can be warm.
It’s freezing – and I fear that, in these clothes, you’ll come to harm.”
He turned to leave.  And at his chin, I saw a drop that glistened.

2013 January 4th, Sat.
(stanzas 2-5 added Sun., early morning)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn