A weird dictionary
A Selection of Poems by Anubhav Tulasi
Translated From Assamese by Nirendra Nath Thakuria
Again on Saturday the flood will rush around
Again on Saturday the flood will rush around
The fragrance of heart sips in the incessant rain
The ration will reach on Sunday
Pitching a tent sadness will settle in my heart
On Monday with the flute and Bonghosha
a full byre of ambitions will climb up the hill
Very often you come on Tuesday
to gather the twigs of bony fingers of hands
On Wednesday relying on a plantain raft
I’ll send the oar out on other errands
The milky paddy ears will rot on Thursday
Flesh and blood will crumble in erosion
On Friday along the slippery path I will go
to creamation ground to smell the eddies of my death
* * *
Legion of the sun
After a long time
as if the artist in God
woke up that day
The clouds were still
Bulgy the clouds were hanging
Too humid was the sky
Attraction swinging fast in heart
Boundless love
This is the glory of the supreme moment
The unease of the noble creator
On the russet of leaves in the ajar wood
lusty rhythm burst into
a jhumur dance
jagi-ja-gijao
All of a sudden
the spirit of the forest flares up
From Tuensang the arrow of sleep
hits the van of the fire brigade
Forked branches gape
Under the silikha tree he is
rapt in thoughts
Chasing the shadow of the wings
of a giant bird
it is about to fall on
hand-made paper
As one sun is about to set
horsemen come up
and another legion of the sun
* * *
Never come to the hizal tree
As I see you weeping over the tamboora
I feel like pulling out the hizal tree
Leaving the door open
the way you begin
to weep over the tamboora
I don’t get a wink of sleep
in the bed of sin
Going along the string way
of the tamboora of night
if I reach
a river of remorse
Don’t come down to Kajalimukh
to stare at my body
drifting downstream
What if I come back
once again to life
getting stuck at the creamation ghat
among driftwood and reeds
What’s the use of leaving you behind
under the hizal tree
Leaving the door open
never take out your tamboora
to the feet of the hizal tree
plucking the strings so sweetly
* * *
White-clad
Dead midnight
we were walking
in the moonlight
Under the jamun tree a path
led up to the hill
Dewdrops soaked her mind
the chilly wind did not feel like
shaking off the kanchan flowers
Dressed in white like the wings of a heron
I found no words of sympathy
Slowly the moonlight was dimming
In the darkness
the path under the jamun tree
led up to the steep hill
* * *
Malaise
I’ve spread so arid an atmosphere
that the tears of my wife have dried up
I’ve kept burning such a fire all the time
that the smile of my wife has burned up
I’ve created such a high pressure
that her blood circulation has got affected
I’ve fed her bitters after bitters
that she has gone off salt and sugar
I’ve set off blast after blast
My wife has lost her voice
In the ultra-modern microwave I’ve so toasted my wife
that her mind and body crumbles even at a rub
For crisp dollars of foreign traders
it is high time to exchange my wife
* * *
A. K. Series
Got from politicians taken from traders
skimmed from different planning heads
all money turns into dollars
Dreams pale because
Of indirect exploitation
A. K. series
in exchange of people’s blood
that bursts all of a sudden
into ‘sovereignty’
Can it be achieved at will
This asset lies mortgaged
now in the World Bank
* * *
Doll
The doll
means the toy means just not the toy
the old toy the blighted toy
When the dead toy
mingles with clay
our doll is born
It glistens at its birth
easily learns to step up the ladder
all necessary tricks
A master of tongue-wagging
an expert in porn trade
Our doll devours
the misty garden of poets and artists
the post-modern dustbins
one hundred per cent of the 21st century
* * *
The moon
A deer grazes at the heart of the moon
Very often the question arises
Who is a man
Who’s a woman
Whose is the domain
on the moon
Who aims the bow and arrow
to capture the deer’s mind
One group says
No man is
on the moon
On the visible side
of the moon
gleam the moonlit vulva
and the breast curves
The other group holds
The invisible side of the moon
is male-dominated
India and Pakistan
Woman and man
Between the bodies
of the two countries
lies the God-given
wall
* * *
Absurd
A weird dictionary I planned to compile
Long ago I built a castle in the air
Utterly absurd
No word would find a place there
without a hundred per cent fancy
Its meaning would be
given there in a fanciful context
Only I would use it as a patois
with my fancied characters
Only I’d laugh during every chat
Mine would be the monopoly on anger
Three times at most I would use a word
and then wring its neck
I’d bury the body of the word
like that of a dead child
The word once rejected
would leave no trace
Only I’d script a newborn’s lot
I would keep no register
of its birth or death
by drawing a line on a white wall
with a cinder
When myself I’d forget
the dictionary would meet its end
* * *
Moving House for the fourth time
For the fourth time I’ve moved house
Even in the fourth place
he keeps sitting tight
His name is Ancient Quietness
Despite the love and cordiality
of his relatives
he has received since birth
he is wild and flippant
His voice bears no whiff of gratitude
He is not water opposite of mercury
whose dimension is ever fixed
who is constant even in the newness
of the fourth place
It is he who is akin to stone
whose heart is a native to the polar region
whose head is erect even in adversity
a piece of steel that rust cannot touch
an imperishable pillar of concrete
He is the proud owner of the vast wealth
which the thief cannot steal
which the seven brothers cannot divide
among themselves
At dead midnight I wake up
What is that sound
I suppose it’s a rain
after a long dry spell
I flick the electric switch dead
With the flashing eye of the torch
stuck to the tips of my fingers
I see
in the fourth place
Quietness scatters
Sobbing
* * *
On the night deepened by pigeons’ coos
Drum beats and clapping of bamboo clappers
on the night deepened by pigeons’ coos
my heart is impaled as if jabbed by a spear
What are you doing now, o bihuwoti
in the dead of night
Woken up by a nightmare
you’ve taken a cold gulp of water
Like an old lotus seed
sprouts the strain of Bonghosha
under the pillow
Seeking relief
I place my hand on the chest
My mind is hazy
The pensive poet says
Let the spear stay embedded
spreading pollens of pain
Let the tunes of horn and gagana glide down
every hour of the night
deepened by pigeons’ coos
With every glide
let the world of pain swell
spreading all over
my chest and back.
* * *
Around a deep blue star
Till yesterday which was not a bird
but something else
Even today morning
it crossed the bridge on foot
To change into a bird
from something else
is absurd unheard-of
But some of us
have seen the bird
and exchanged
motley ideas
how the skies scramble
for a kiss on its beak
I am also
full of praise
for the deep blue of its wings
* * *
Rain
Like the thorns
something is there
in the rain too
Leaning against a pillow
it wants to settle itself
and burn the wick of dreams
The rain leads me
to show the murmuring ghat
of an unseen river
I deck on the candle stand
the blooming drops of rain
The rain tills me
and in its heart
the paddy seedlings I plant
Sometimes I fly kites
with the rain
We both play the game
of snapping strings
* * *
A magician who first brought love
I smelt a flower in your river
The erosion has begun since
The fire began to fly in the air
The ocarina in the stream
The lac of my heart began to melt
That day
on a curved knife
I was scaling
the live fish of life
That was the beginning of love
I smell a flower with the roots
On water was floating
the bare tree
* * *
Roivat
I didn’t sit with you on grass
in case the green turned delicate
I didn’t get drenched in rain
for fear of melting like salt
I didn’t jump like others into the river
in case the rolling waves broke
I didn’t go into the woods
in case the arrows of sin hit me
I didn’t go with you to become sunshine
in case the cool shade spread out
I didn’t keep pace with butterflies
I just kept sitting like Roivat
* * *
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
On impulse I buy
temptation
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Buying home the disarming smile
I smash
the mirror of sorrow
of both eyes
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Having bought the full moon
I hoist it like a flag of pride at the gate
and mock at the new moon of others
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Buying home barbarity
I strip the night naked at noon
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Meaning to buy the grassy breeze
I buy worm casts
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Meaning to buy a bouquet of flowers
I buy dodders
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Meaning to buy bulletproof
I buy the white of a shroud
I won’t go shopping but go
I won’t buy but buy
Self-interest I buy on impulse
Having killed two score of chickens
I wring my own neck
On impulse I buy
and never have another think
* * *
Ever seen
The ever-seen road
is a slough
The ever-seen trees
lampless stands of evenings
The ever-seen crows
losing blackness
cry
The ever-seen
water and sky
are turbid
Whose is this face
ever seen
ever pale
Say, o mirror
* * *
Birthmark
Is that my vehicle
blown up in the explosion
Is that my body
coming out like a ball of fire
I have lost my birthmark
My relatives would not recognize me
I have lost the definition
of man
My successors will not find
my bone my flesh
The onus to rescue me
lies on the machine called the government
The onus to rescue me
lies on the fiery leaders
The onus to rescue me
lies on dumb statues called people
Beware
Don’t throng around me
Let fresh air come in
You
save yourselves
from being dead bodies
* * *
Castle in the air
This is a humble attempt of a craftsman
to fix the sky in the frame of a window
Blue ideal sunny wish
Building a castle in the air
Chand became a merchant
When the sky caved in
you became clouds or a grey joke
You beckoned to the sky
and the sky touched the land
Above my head the sky
is missing
the land under my feet
Folding them both you slipped them
In an envelope and posted …
* * *
Smiles on the faces in hoardings
Yeah, the smiles on the faces on hoardings
have faded
Something has happened so
what happened to the Iraqi twins
in the operation theatre
what happened to the neem sapling
planted in the front yard
for fresh breezes
what happens to the flowering mango tree
in the hailstorm
Yes, something has happened
Something has happened so
Someone has set fire
to the oil well
One after another
the doors have flung open
Through the open doors
are coming and going
two guests —Coming and Going
Something has happened
to those hoardings
* * *
Head
A burden too old
As it is a part of body
I’m hardly aware of it
Not a bother if he were a corn on a limb
But he is an actor used to leading
So he has not taken easily
the frowning eyebrows
on the forehead
tears rolling with melted salt
No ease only anxiety
The velum is soft, the palate hard
shaking the jaws and lips
Chat recite a poem sing a song
I feel like putting down
this ancient load
before being buffeted by blows
Let my shoulders take eternal rest
I too chance to live
the life of a headless one
* * *
The garden of Spring
In the garden of Spring
nightmares are milling about
All of a sudden fire engulfs
a pregnant daughter-in-law
I say silk cotton trees are in bloom
In the garden of Spring
nightmares are milling about
At the jerk of a bulldozer
the huts of sorrow tumble down
Wailing the sky is naked
The wind is heavy with sadness
I say the palas trees are in bloom
In the garden of Spring
nightmares are milling about
The countdown has begun
Country’s keepers are going on a hunt
Well, what is public
At best
piles of petals of Indian corals
lying on ground
In the garden of Spring
nightmares are milling about
Long-handled saws and axes
are plundering the forest
Where else will cuckoos and bulbuls fly away
The flags of fear flutter on all leaves
In the garden of nightmares
my thoughts go against the grain
Having forgotten to bloom
screw pines are just
sharpening their thorns
* * *
Dance of the mantis
Under the shadow of that rock
of pain and sorrow
your heart dances
Beneath the rock
runs the murmuring brook
Leap and run. O murmuring brook
Yours is the dance of the open sky
the frantic dance of the sea
with blue hair hanging loose
Above it the moon the sun and stars
Self-absorbed dust beckons to strange birds
The leaning gulanch is your dance
The uruli that glides into the dance
the smoke that thins coiling up
the fire that flares in cleaning up a mess
yours is that frantic dance
If I could dance
If I were carried away by the dance rhythm
In the privacy of the song
in the privacy of the dance
the chirping of the cricket
the dance of the mantis
Listening to that song
grows the rose-scented darkness
Watching that dance
I forgot to blow out
the lamp
* * *
At midnight to the poet’s home
At midnight I went to the poet’s home
to watch the rise and fall
of waves in his angry veins
On the slope of sullenness
he was sitting
his spirit as pale
as the water hyacinth
It happened with dazzle
and a loud crash
From his hair the brainwave
hit the roof of his house
Over a sheet of blank paper
was hanging a watersprout
* * *
White-clad
Dead midnight
we were walking
in the moonlight
Under the jamun tree a path
led up to the hill
Dewdrops soaked her mind
the chilly wind did not feel like
shaking off the kanchan flowers
Dressed in white like the wings of a heron
I found no words of sympathy
Slowly the moonlight was dimming
In the darkness
the path under the jamun tree
led up to the steep hill
* * *
