Third Issue: SILENCES

As the noon rolls on, I make my way home
From the day-long play in the field.
I fumble for the olden key, owned by Ammu
As if searching for the old album
Where she has stored all those cherished photographs
Locked away in the steel-almirah.
I extract memories one by one,
Wrapped carefully in the folds of her Blue Saree —
I go back to the murmurings of Spring
Where cotton tree seeds scatter beside the pond —
As I sit nestled in her lap.
_

Ashiqur Rahman [ trans. Ipsita Deb ]