Abul Hussain

  The Middle Class

Sometimes it seemed to me

There was no point in dying

Bit by bit.  What was the point

In living this life-in-death ?

Over cities and villages

I scattered the seething fire

Raging in the calls of my brain.

And then in a cool moment

I returned to my room

And wearily looked for the  wick of my lamp

In utter darkness and stared

With empty eyes at my rat hole;

And I muttered to myself:

let him who wanted to go, depart,

let us hold on even to this life-in-death.

I belonged to the hollow strawmen,

                                   the middle class.

                                    Translated by Kabir Chowdhury

Abul Hossain (1922--)

Poet, Translator, and Writer of Travelogues. Poetry : Naba Basanta (1940), Biras Sanglap (1969), Translaton : Iqbaler Kovita (1954), Travalogue. Awards : Bangla Academy Award –1963, Ekushe Padak-1980.