Ukraine: The Seventh Month (Bengali + EN translation)
by Kamalika Sanyal
Foreword: I first wrote this poem -- well, as the title says, during the seventh month of the Ukraine-Russia war. To the utter bewilderment of mine, and surely to the majority of all of us, it is relevant even now. I just wanted to scream against this meaninglessness, but couldn't. And then one day, as I was yet again emotionally exhausted after reading news of the war, the words just came easy.
The motivation behind penning the translation from Bengali to English is largely personal. I wanted to reach my friends who do not speak my language, but share my values and sentiments. I have a friend in my close circle whose country is suffering, whose family and friends have been affected by the horror of this war, and it has affected him too. I don't think I had expressed myself well enough in the initial months that how much the anecdotes of the war were affecting me as a human being and a sad spectator, on a daily basis. I sincerely hope that my thoughts has reached him and others through this poem. And I express my gratitude to Paris Lit Up for publishing this, as I hope it will be able to reach more souls who are living their life in the backdrop of this madness, and screaming, but like me, only deep inside.
Ukraine: The Seventh Month
Seven months for some
A bottomless well of time for some.
We are fine.
We still
Haven’t joined those
Those who tear and wither
Even before
Understanding, “what is war?”
Yet.
We still haven’t
Jumped desperately
In the hole coloured like death
To save whatever is good
Whatever is meaningful
Yet.
We are fine.
We are well.
Unbeknownst to us
Sits right in the middle of our chest
People
Eyes, mouth, hands tied
Riddled with holes.
We are well.
But without our attention
Through our vein flows, flows
People
Molten, burnt
In the scorching heat of war.
We are fine.
And
Our sweet spring child
Learns that smell of
Blood in the air.
Posted on May 22nd 2023