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Sonali Kabin Translated by Gazi Abdulla-hel Baqui – Daily CN Bangla










Sonali Kabin Translated by Gazi Abdulla-hel Baqui

Original: Al Mahmud
Translation: Gazi Abdulla-hel Baqui

{‘SonaliKabin’ (The Golden Marriage Contract) is the collection of 14 sonnets composed by Al Mahmud, an eminent modern poet of Bangla Literature. This outstanding collection is his masterpiece and very popular to the readers.The subject matters of the sonnets are love, desires, worldly life, relationship between man and woman, nature, society, history, country life, tradition, awareness of patriotism, pastoral culture, keenness of modern intellect, evaluation of thoughts and ideas etc. The poet has portrayed the true picture of a marital life as lived in the spectrum of pastoral cultural settings.}

Sonali Kabin

No gold Dinar have I, cancel your demand for dowry, my Doe,
If you take, I can offer you two hands without a marriage-contract,
Never have I saved gold for the sale of my own self,
Clever frowning all around hurts and wounds;
If you love me, I will shower on you my kisses,
No knowledge of pretension has taught me other business;
Should you give me body, in return you will get mine,
Other than body I have no capital to buy you ornaments, dear.
If you are stripped off your clothes, you will see me simple,
Uncovering the secret of male even the fig-leaf will be removed,
If you taste that forbidden fruit, offer me it to taste too
We will ever learn each other through knowledge and ignorance,
I am not defeated, O girl; the poets never get vanquished,
Extremely hurt, the big and small veins are today afflicted.

Creeping through my hand come on my mat, OPanokhi,
Coil your hood expanded, now don’t write black letters on heart;
With fear of torrents of snap, I have already turned more bluish
Than you pour dark harm by your tremendous bite.
For what flirtation you are holding your blue-sari?
The nocturnal thrills splash, trickling in drops,
I think I dare jump into that darkness at any sign
If you pick up my death on your sari’s hem, spread.
By the mild tremble of erotic scratch of nail on the breasts,
Would you allow me to write my name unknown and titleless?
If you grow bashful by the moist kisses without rest
I will wipe the ancient non-Aryan blood-red primordial letter.
The Bangalee maidens, expert in love-sport, surge in dalliance of amour,
That was unknown to Batsayana and the young Aryan Beauties.

Turning the bend of neck, get up my wild Goose.
Give me comfort of your warm limbs, spreading wings,
The day glides away saluting Nature, the door to thrills
The name of this expert philologist will surely open.
The sound-arrows of Takshaka remind lusty desire from the soul wild
You girl of eighteen pay heed to those eighteen calls,
Wind up around the finger the queue looking serpentine
Let both of us with thirst sit nude on surface of the blue lake.
Like the hungry river raising two intense sounds of water–
Let us be lost in the untilled vale of life,
Open the folds of your body as the river loosens the shore-soil
The flesh of Ugol fish be consummated in your slime,
Moistening the arts of pleasure by amorous liquids from lips
Come, let us sink swiftly in the labyrinth of whirlpool of blood.

IF you desire this place of pilgrimage, step up very slow, O Beauty,
The soil contains the precious blood of Mukundaram,
Let us read that book through the torn and out–worn palm leaves
Which are smeared with a lot of sorrows and tears.
Will you come as the desire of the poet, O youthful lusty girl?
But know that my want grows like a huge python,
Like a drop of fresh blood, I will imprint a red paint of cinnabar
On your forehead, and offer you the love of a poor soul.
Tell me, following culture of what community, I welcome you
My dear bride in this hut? My belief lies in Kapil,
Did love ever seek the shelter of any race or religion?
After demise, only he grasses return on the grave.
So long you bear the exquisite figure of copper hue
After that nothing remains, then the history laughs.

Has the cotton fruit burst out beside my house?
Put on the garland of red-black seed, O girl, dear Sabari.
Tell me, where have you kept the earthen pot of Mohua
Bring it and let us be satisfied with its taste in the moonlight.
Who says I will not recognise you in the primitive hunting dress
Does the huntsman ever mistake the species of the she-birds?
What magic-power ofKhana exposes the mystery of Nature?
The same charm is immanent in the soul of the poets.
From the book of Nature have I learnt it since infancy
The all-piercing roots of the green invade even the heart of love,
Permanent habitation has never been built up
Where the fingers of the artists of Egypt, Greece and Saracen failed.
All artistic skills tremble by the draw of Time’s Plane (carpenter’s)
No more exhaustible than this the lips of the poet, O damsel.

I belong to Kauma community without any belief to Matsanaya,
I raise the single voice of equality in your arena, O lady,
Never have I composed verses eulogizing any feudal lord
The sword of the exploiters is hanging on my naked head.
Possibly my ancestors took the life of servitude to any kings
Selling conscience they could build the castles of verses
The wind of Bangla still hisses at that ill-repute.
Alaol, the horseman of Rosanga court, hides his own face.
Better to become than this the poor Baul singer?
That searches his neighbor living in the city of mirror
Braid a single lock of hair on the crown of my head
You be the monocord, I become a young Lalon
The mistakes so long been committed by undesired devotion
Would be purified by us and start sweet new songs.

Do you weep a flood of tears in distress, losing earring?
The twigs of vegetables have bent down by the gust of gale outside,
Is it possible to quickly recover the ornaments stolen away–
ThatCunnet might have been worn by thief’s unchaste wife!
Worms have made holes into the fine conscience of the country
By selling merits the community of intellects is pleased enough.
How long can it be hidden under the guise of gentility
When the spirit of a rebellious poem cries in the soul?
Don’t break the bracelets, your ear holes shall be filled up
Still the slips of sandalwood are kept preserved at my home,
By playing a classical tune have I suddenly started singing ribaldry
Pardon me, O simple rustic maid, frenzied is the voice of this cuckoo.
Your milk in the pot is being sipped by the golden cat
By the pretence of not caring it, how long will you allow it, O my agile Dear?

The effect of venom of Mawnawsha’s snake is felt in sound sleep
The female cobra managed to enter the bridal iron chamber, O chaste wife.
Tell me, will I ever behold any new morning?
The orb, the god of warmth, that rises everyday.
The beloved turning blue for intense action of venom shivered
Please raise me on your body, O Behula dear,
Hold tightly my body by your energetic arms, O the Chaste,
On your floating raft will lie down the god-rebellious prince of ebb-plains,
If the end of life fast approaches for the tremendous effect of poison,
Tousling your tresses of hair, start wailing bitterly, O my girl.
Breaking the cage of death, the bird of life should return quickly
Yama who causes death be defeated at such challenging spirit of life,
Rending your dress apart begin to dance beside Death
May your flawless gestures revolutionize the mode of living.

Your body has inherited, O the piqued lady, the verdant splendour of the race,
That once built the city of Pundra, and you must know it.
Soil absorbed them as its food but still unknown to me that
The roots of banyan suck up the blood of the dark-blue nation.
You know my habitation lies in the country of red-coloured soil
My ancestors were the Patricks, the pride of Puri,
The billows of creeping shrubs devour all relics,
The hymn of Gautama is resounded in the drone of crickets.
In olden days the Vedic fire of disintegration never advanced further
An inch crossing the Karatoya, for fear of those,
Has the foundation of their home been eaten into by the termite of Kautilya?
The fine voice of equality is thwarted again and again:
The Bargees plundered paddy, causing the walkways half blood-stained.
The crops are endangered more today than your crisis, O dark-blue lady.

The Kiratas raised their hands voicing the laborers’ rights of equality
Peace envelops the land of Hiuen-Tsang, my beloved, you see,
Those who brought the influence of workmen’s equality in Asia
Should have their dresses adorned with the medals of heroes by us.
Our righteous practice be the equal distribution of crops and wealth,
Sing out the annihilation of classes in soft-accented ease
You, my brave beloved, pronounce such words of love
That discrimination may never enter again in people’s community.
After that if your female desire raises the issue of lusty act
Coming to a hidden spot of the field undress your yellow youth,
For the sake of harvest, as much love and affection as you need
More will I employ the power of virility with sincerity,
With bashful bravery I am holding the sari made of silk
O bird of sweet voice, agree to my proposal, this poor fellow is your mate.

Since infancy have I heard Bangladesh is the nursing home of the wise
In restless rainfall, such countless Plants are easily growing,
Today look at the chamber of knowledge full of hanging bats, dejected.
How difficult is it to pin faith on the past, O my good-natured lady?
How could I accept that this land was the birthplace of Sreegan
Where Shilvadra took the first breath of ancient air,
Minus this past nothing remains remarkable today
Only a few Sinanthropus cough in the abodes of education.
Amidst this last applause of the Stone Age
Where will you flee, in which woods will you hide?
Your body also exhibits the prominent colour of the free roe
When sharp spikes of stone shoot up from the viewless corner.
In the centers of our arts, in all our skills and artistry
The existentialist giraffes have extended their individual necks.

During wide river erosion at midnight in a certain village
The noise of rising tide suddenly someone hears
And gropes for his bed-companion whether she is present there
The woman opens the doors to the store of her wealth.
You fine gentle lady, catch hold of my hand in such a black fearful night
If your body emits the fragrance of crops,
For foods the foes strike all the blows of ferocious greed
We will resist the terror of those dragons, the greedy snatchers.
The water-soaked tiller of the high land as establishes his rights
In loud protest on the risen alluvial plots once lost in the river,
Thus over your head have I hoisted the flag of righteousness
My flag is glowing and steady in both kindness and demand;
By the violent roar of thunderbolt see the southeast shaking today
By swearing the spirit of gale, tell me O lady, who you belong to?

Open your eyes, reddened by smell of Loban, O Beauty unadorned
The two hems of embroidered piece of cloth flutter in my breath,
When did the female wood pigeon bow down her head in coyness?
As if she is shivering today like the wind-beaten cane roots!
Wind loosens your top-knot, lift up your face, O ever-smiling lady
My heart as becoming your tiara palpitates in thrills
All the villagers are holding the auspicious winnows full of paddy,
In the yard, Khai of Binni and the bed smelling perfume and scented wood.
Accept with respect these auspicious paddy and grass, O noble lady
Uncovering your privacy tie up your top-knot again,
The sisters-in-law of your age have occupied the doorway
Listen to the beginner’s lesson of domestic life in utter humility
To welcome the bride, the descendants of the great maternal Line are now ready
Like the waves of the river, O maiden, pronounce your consent to marry.

I swear by rain, I swear by tiny ears of paddy, O my wife
I swear by fish, meat and milchHalal animals,
Plough, yoke, scythe and wind inflated sails I swear by
No poet fails to uphold the belief of heart.
By a breach of promise if I make my tongue unholy any day
You would become the piercing shaft of lightning,
Divorce to you should then emerge rending apart my heart
And income of this poor soul may not provide a morsel of protein.
In the breast of the teal floating on the river at night
The gentle waves break rippling in variety
Thus heaps of my kisses continually on your body
Will be poured forever, unlocking the door of shame.
In breach of this, Banu, may curse fall on my head
As I swear by language and by loving poetry.

Biographical Information

Dr. Gazi Abdulla-hel Baqui, poet, writer, translator, and a university professor, has already authored twenty books and a great number of poems, (including haiku and rubaiyat), articles and stories have been published in different national and local and online Dailies, Magazines, Journals, Periodicals etc. Besides being awarded internationally for his poetic accomplishments, he has many a time been honored by different organizations of Bangladesh for his contribution to literature, education and research. A solo cassette album of his eleven poems called `Visions’ and his poems in some anthologies have been published by The National Library of Poetry, Maryland. Oddball Magazine, English Teaching Forum, Poetry.com etc.have also published his poems. His prize-winning poems on peace have been published in Official Catalogues by Cultura-e-Societa, Torino, Italy. His poems generally deal with peace and patriotism, eternal problems and lasting human conviction.




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