A canister box
An umbrella
A common man entered
Into the city centre
Nobody looked at him that much
He is nothing different – many come or go
Seeing him looking here and there
The traffic sergeant asked-
Hello, where are you going
Living Market
How funny, why not to the market of the dead
Meeting a rural layman
What the wasteful city evils practice
What is there in the box
By this time some curious people began to gather
Keeping the man in the center
They are rotating just as the earth moves around the sun
He began to open the box
And from inside there came out a melodious river
Some kept alive fish
A flock of parrots flew away
A bunch of golden paddy-meadow grass-a Lungi
That has endless length and wad
A muck coated yard – a spinach stand – a brass plate like the magic lamp of Aladdin
And so on
The bodily excitement from the audience
The merriment poured from the eyes of birds
Shitalakshya River in the backbone
There is no end of the quest of the sergeant and the crowd
Are you a magician or a genie
Human being or alien
Are you the ancestor of Noah
The man himself knows not
The theatre of his brain is the source of this movie
He knows not why there is such a revolution in the citadel of his grandfather, too
He thought miraculously these are the gifts from God
The crowd asked again-
Who are you
The man considers himself useless
He has some wreath of stanzas that he composed secretly
To manage his bread and butter by them he passed miles after miles
Tearing his mother’s tearful dawn
He shared his breakfast with the sun
How will he introduce himself
But he composes poetry
Is there any value of it to the common folk
Nevertheless being a bit courageous
Emerging from the pages of mythology a true visionary said –
I am a poet
The crowd began to thin out gradually
He kept his head down with an indescribable shame
Until a woman asked
What’s your first name
The man is amazed
While leaving the pedestrian standing for so long said-
Poet- his name poet

Translated by: Ashraf Chowdhury