Saturday, February 16, 2008


Biodata and Other stories
Poems by Dibyajyoti Sarma

First Person ‘I’:
Who is Lost Among the Dates

Second Person ‘You’:
Who Would Never Find Me

Third Person ‘He/She/It’:
Survivors, Fallen Angels & Things Instead of You and Your Memories

A Selection of Asomiya verse
in Translation


First Person ‘I:’ Who is lost among the dates

You and I

Second Person ‘You:’ Who would never find me

You and I

Third Person ‘He/She/It:’ Survivors, Fallen Angels, and Things instead of you

You and I

Testimonials: A Selection of Asomiya Verse in Translation

Subject: Famine
Poem of Happy Men



My mother had an umbrella
With ocean blue and maroon patches
Which she carried everywhere she went
Especially when she escorted me to the art school
On sultry summer afternoons
The umbrella with my mother’s lean frame
Created a rolling shadow on the melting tar
And I marched strides with that shadow
For the shade of my mother’s comfort


Now, at midnight, in this middle-aged city
Among the desecrations of an old civilisation
I stand bereft under a glowing streetlight
My skin cannot hide the shame of my body
There’s no shade here: and I had
Bargained my skin for a packet of love
Which I left behind among the Bedouins
And my aged soul, too tired even to
Finish it all, too scared to finish it all
A glimmer of hope flickers –

A shade!
Oh, my mother!


When I was born no drums beat
My parents were disappointed with their harvest
They wanted a baby girl
With my mother’s beauty and my father’s brain
I was given a girl’s name
On the third day, father brought for me a girl’s dress
My hair was grown long and was
Tied into two plaits with yellow ribbons
In short, I was a girl


The days were stuff of dream
Like air bubbles boys in our neighbourhood
Created from the juices of Akan trees
And one day the bubble burst and
She was born; a daughter
It was the end of the dream
They chopped my hair short
Tore away my frock
And gave her my name
Leaving me exposed in broad daylight


I cried and it rained
I was born that day
The falling rain was my father
And the soggy soil
My mother…


In a nameless city, among nameless people
I struggle to find my own name
And find solace among those
Who aren’t like me

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