Five Poems by Abu Siddik
A Mother’s Monologue
Yesterday, I gave birth to a girl,
Faces around me were blackened,
For they pinned hope on a son
During my swelling days,
Parents, in-laws, close friends,
Even my maids were sure of a son’s coming
Neighbours looked at my bulging belly.
And they were happy for I was going to be
A proud mother within a week
Nothing that sort followed,
A girl was born,
And all fell silent
The room was the same
But it has lost its warmth,
The painted walls, the delicate curtains
Looked dull to our loved elders
Azad and I love our girl.
But Azad has just crossed a stormy sea
That I know.
At Day Breaks in Dooars
At day breaks in Dooars
I see anaemic women in clusters
With kids tied to their backs
Trudging to their masters’ moneymaking fields
Saris they wear are sold
At fifty at Vairob haat,
You may collect them
At Kalinarayanpur, Birnagar
Of Nadia at the same rate
Sewed slippers,
Battered parasols,
Sickly feet, decaying frames,
Weather-beaten cheeks,
And the little ones sleeping
In peace on backs in the simmering sun
Women love the babus and their blades
Babus own their fields, they know—
Bent backs, blank eyes, beaten hands,
They pluck two buds and a leaf,
The manager's factory hand is waiting,
At sunset, he'll weigh each load,
Keep records of each entry,
And pay them poorly on the payment day.
Day breaks
They plod to masters’ moneymaking fields,
Kids sleeping on their backs in the simmering sun.
.
Fifteen Feats
Just as I take a window seat
at 9:46 train, and begin to read
‘The rolling plains arched her back,
to an obliging sky who lay down
between the lifted thighs of brown
hills all the way to the horizon.
And the wind sighed.’ from R Vol Lindsey,
a child in bare feet begins to twist her bones
to the rhythms of her mother’s beating drum,
she regales our eyes with fifteen feats,
and when her mother stops, she stops
and stretches a stainless pot to the pleasure-seekers.
Classy commuters, dressed to match the desire of the day,
find many a fault in the mother and the child and the system
and they refuse to drop a coin and argue in support
of not encouraging the way of visual pollutants.
Nonchalant, the girl moves to the next rows of labourers,
repairmen and tool-makers, seasonal performers, patient parties,
newly-wed couples and jobless lovers,
and almost all of them stretch their hands and praise the day.
Meantime, her mother moves to the next coach,
and the girl follows her steps and begins to repeat her
fifteen feats.
Murshidabadi Masons
On a hot May day,
A funeral march goes by the railway track,
I get a seat in a chocked coach
And smile at my luck
Exodus time for south-bound labourers,
Murshidabadi masons—
They have come in flocks to celebrate Eid at home
A week has passed in mirth and warmth,
Leaving home makes them sad again
I look at my sides,
And feel the warmth of the day
By my extreme left, a teenage boy is sleeping
And when I closely look at him,
His sweaty, sculptured face delights me,
A cheap, designed t-shirt, hands full of lines,
Face marked with pangs of departure,
The morning rays fall on his beaten cheeks
And tales of unending disgrace, dishonour,
Drape his days.
The Labourers on Wheels
Ramzan month,
The usual crowd is missing,
Hawkers look sad
I sit close to a set of labourers,
Handles of shovels, peeping out of plastic sacks,
Look like half-burnt legs.
The smart one has bought a kerchief,
Red as a rose, the drooping man is folding
A brand new napkin on his lap.
Hands are winter trees,
Bare, coarse, full of lines,
Playing with a pouch of dry green peas.
The sacrificial goats of the village
Suffering from a bad cold, mucus is coming
Out of their nostrils, they are saying.
At Beldanga station, they watch
Goods train waiting to be unloaded,
And they talk of the cement-smeared faces.
The train stops at Plassey,
I leave,
They are still talking about the wagons
Abu Siddik is a bilingual writer, editor, and reviewer who teaches at Plassey College in West Bengal, India. He writes poems, short stories, and critical articles on the struggles and resilience of Indian marginalized communities. His work has been published in various literary magazines and portals, including Muse India, Story Mirror, and Countercurrents. Abu Siddik has authored four poetry books, three short story books, and four critical books. His latest publications include Identity and Belonging: Mapping the Margins (Authorspress, New Delhi) and Banger Musalman: Somaj Pironer Dahan Brittanto (Gangchil, Kolkata). He is also the editor of a Bangla literary portal Chetona.