At the House of Somebody Dead By Sikder Aminul Haque

At the House of Somebody Dead

Sikder Aminul Haque

 

At the house of somebody dead what hurts your eyes–

The irrational wailing. Whose

Furnished bedstead is abloom with blossoms, what's

His connection with such bereavement, I can't grasp.

But lulled by the scare of customs and scolding

I too dip my head into that crowded diversity. Find

 

Some busy somewhat

Having travelled to the cemetery;

Some condoling on phones, or with lamenting tone

Spreading the obituary around town.

 

Womenfolk scale the stairs leisurely enough

Managing covers and veils;

Mourner frankincense burns but air all round the room.

 

Indeed, for the one who dies, the pomp of praise

Runs all day long. The beneficiary now

For the first time and indifferently ever

Admits of the greatness of the deceased before the crowd;

Things his favourite–Chinese soup, walking in the park,

Closer ones relate these too. One laughingly

Discloses even the event in Agra:

How routed he on the Tonga; and others

Go to the  neighboring gullies stealthily to puff cigarettes.