Teesta Review: A Journal of Poetry, Volume 5, Number 2. November 2022. ISSN: 2581-7094
Prabal Kumar Basu (poet) with translations by Armaan Singh
3
poems by Prabal Kumar Basu: www.prabalkumarbasu.com
All
translated by Armaan Singh
A
Family Chair
My inheritances are humble
Among them
An incredible chair deserves the
attention
Seated upon it
Everyone looks the same
My grandfather used to sit on it
Later followed by my father
And my Father minutely resembled
the grandfather’s image
Just to avoid getting into the trap
of resembling the father
I always avoided this chair
I made unknown figures sitting on
this chair
And found out each of them
resembled the other
I experimented with my friends
Even with my relatives whom I
failed to differentiate
After seating on this
When the wives of my friends
Saw my wife using the chair
They expressed their desire to sit
upon
And in fear, I hid it from their
reach
I reckon every god would look the
same
Once they were made to sit upon
this chair
Even all the religions would become
the same
Obliterating the divisions
This chair is not a royal one
Rather a piece of everyday
furniture
Made of good quality woods
If, any one of you, lacks adequate
faith in yourself
You may come and sit on this chair
And discover
Who do you really are, and whom do
you resemble in real?
A labyrinth
After the demise of my father
I started looking through the trash
he left behind
While throwing away most
something suddenly caught my attention in the
junk
There was a lane that he had left
behind
Later I had understood
That lane was my sole inheritance
When he was alive, he hadn't mentioned this lane ever
Whether he got it from his father
Or this lane leads to anywhere
For whatever reason
That information was undisclosed
What would I do with this lane?
Before comprehending this simple
fact
I found myself ambling through this
lane
Hoping that lane must lead me
To the highway
Father had left me years ago
but since I got into that lane
from narrow to wide
from straight to twisted
neither of those lanes could lead
me to the highway
Did my father too waste his life
by getting himself into a lane like
this
and wandering forever around the
labyrinth?
Or does an inherited lane
Never lead to a highway?
Can anyone tell me?
Some men possess an unusual type of
balcony
Standing on which
No human can be seen
Only the shadows lurk
No tree comes in the eyesight,
Neither the birds
though the shadows grow longer
The shadow of an invisible
lamp-post
Occupies the footpath
Standing on such a balcony
How could I catch the right?
From such a balcony I keep my watch
Over the city
That is devoid of houses,
Only the shadows of the houses
Stay alive
In those shadow abodes
Live the shadowy citizens
Can anyone tell me
Which one of these houses
Belong to Rukmini?
I need her
As I had left my long-lost river to
her
And I desire to walk on the shores
of that river
With her
For one last time
But how can I detect Rukmini’s house?
Is it possible to determinate from
the shadows?