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A Post Graduate in English working as an English Faculty in St. Joseph College of Communication, Media Village, Changanacherry Kerala, India

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Bagdad by Murugan Kattkkada: An Attempt to Translate

Charred sand swirls up in the air,
Mechanical crow flies upside down,
little childhoods oozing blood from the split heads
down in the valley.
It's Bagdad,
Bagdad of the Arabian tales my mum told (2)
Little sprouts withered by the splattered blood in the butcher shop
dusty lumps packed in rags lies strewn in silence
amidst, sleeps in little dress a shattered childhood
Mum near creaked the pack and laid her half arm on the blushed cheek
It's Bagdad,
Bagdad of the Arabian tales my mum told (2)
Beside the pavement lies a wick, put off and smoke curls up
A cute little child, like a cross that lost both its arms,
pitifully dozes on the sick bed with spilling eyes
praying for the gift of a hand to wipe his tears.
In dreams he lingered with little calves far away
but rose from sleep with the prick of a thorn while nipping a water lilly.
Mum sat near, not weeping and said “now on my eyes are your hands”
It's Bagdad,
Bagdad of the Arabian tales my mum told (2)
They asked from far: “who is in your dreams?”
Kick off all the dreams with no sponsors
Cast off your name and roots, we will give you hot dreams
or else you will be given a fire fruit with thousand wicks to swallow
and fill your nights with nightmares...
and make a pyre with the tree of culture that you nurtured
The shade tree is axed at the root
Will be given a colourful mansion with dream comforts instead

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