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Al Mahmud

The wind that drives asunder
the flock of wild ducks
twists and tosses to the ground
the wings of jet plane
pulls upwards and scatters the waters of the river
bends the telegraph poles ---
to this gale I make this humble submission:
O mighty wind, what good does it do
to snap the sail-cord of the poor boatman?
What joy is it, tell me,
to raze the farmer's homestead?
By tearing down the eggplant-leaf nest
of the warbling bird
overturning the rice pot of the care-worn mother
tell me, O Wind-god, what pleasure do you get?
What fun is it to blow away
the nest of the tailor-bird?
Are you father to the formidable hero Hanuman
of whose exploits I have read in the Ramayana?
If you are truly the companion of that benign cloud
mentioned in the Meghadutam of Kalidasa
then why did you have to be so merciless, wind?
You have uprooted the wooden posts
of the flattened humble dwellings
but you could not loosen a single brick
of those stately mansions
built at the cost of others' deprivation.
I have heard so many tales of even-handed justice.
You were supposed to be the carrier of King Solomon,
the one whose sword severed the heads of oppressors
and ground to the dust
the edifices of arrogance.
Rabindranath, the poet of poets,
stood before you with folded hands
beseeching you to blow away
with one gust of the Nor'wester
whatever is old and dead, putrefying and redundant.
If destroy you must, then listen, storm,
do obliterate
the factious parasites
do humble to the dust the pretences
of those who built castles
at the cost of others' toil.


Translated by: Zakeria Shirazi