Three Poems: Mohibul Aziz

Mohibul Aziz

Don’t Forget*

Yes, a braggadocio,

I know that’s what you are.

You may boast of your bombastic words

That you brandish at times—

Keep in mind, I pity you,

Go to hell with your doltish enticements.

Yes, now that you became big so big and high

That you can touch the ceiling up above 

With your able fingers.

But don’t forget 

You came out from the tiny little womb.

See, that feeble woman

Who is quailed by you once gave you shelter

In her chamber of delightful darkness.

Aye you, the numb and dumb,

Can’t you recollect those days when 

Being in her lap you longed to get the dot 

Considering that an alluring moon!

Now you are big and are smirking 

Before setting to fiendish acts.

You’re over the moon

And with your masochistic delights

You’re denying the truth of your harborage.

No doubt, you’re the owner of the power,

You’re dazzling the world with your helter-skelter impetuses

But don’t forget that dotted little lady 

Stretched her hands to gather all the strength 

To make you strong 

To let you from the present to the future.

Listen, the proud wiseacre,

What you see the dot is not a dot in fact,

It’s a radiating planet

Not everyone has the potency to tolerate that!

*This poem is written as a protest against those fanatics who a few days ago

 proclaimed that wearing dots on the women’s forehead is prohibited in Islam.

***

Mimesis

It’s the cheetahs that can hide the hunting nails 

In their paws.

It’s the hyenas that can muffle their shrilling voices 

In the secret niches.

It’s the foxes that can wag their tails

In innocent expressions.

It’s only the human beings who can copy 

The acts of all these creatures with tremendous skills. 

***

Autobiographical 

I'm a veered tributary oozed out from nowhere

And not known would direct where to.

The only thing I know

I no longer belong to this vicinity.

All the interspersed lines are connected to one another,

Only my line ebbed away from the ever-whirling whorl.

Everyone is moving as if guided by the ominous clouds

But I'm groping to hold the support I need

In the face of sheer adversaries 

That keep obstructing like some medieval throwbacks.

Having stood like the stout jurors

They spawn on axioms of their own

Those can't be mismatched,

Can't be disregarded by ones' idiosyncrasy,

I'm a veered tributary,

Can't take a free turn,

If I do take

The risk of transgressions welcomes me. 

***

Bio: Mohibul Aziz was born in Jessore, Bangladesh in 1962. He permanently lives in Chattogram where he is a professor in the department of Bengali Language and Literature, University of Chittagong. He is the author of nearly sixty books of various genres such as fiction, novel, essays and poems. All of the books are in Bengali. Private Moments and Resurrection of a Reformist are his two books of poetry published in English.

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Setu, July 2022