Introduction

Wrote this poem in my mother tongue Axomiya (Assamese) first and then translated to English today. Posting it here in the reverse order.

Just asked your name,
My friend,
To get introduced, and
You gave a long list of
Identification;
For me there was
Only one identity of you,
I wanted to build a bridge,
But the high wall of your identity, built by
The long list of
Nationality, ethnicity, language, religion,
Made it a bridge far away;
That you did not include
The color of your skin,
Acknowleging that I am not blind,
Thanks for the small mercy,
Friend of mine.
Au revoīr my friend,
Look me up
If one day you yearn
For company of man,
I shall be here,
The world is my home.
Oh, you never asked my name,
My friend,
May be it is unnecessary to you,
Still, let me introduce myself,
I am human.

নাম পৰিচয়

সুধিছিলোঁ নাম তোমাৰ বন্ধু
চিনাকি হ’বলৈ,
তুমি দিলা দীঘল তালিকা
তোমাৰ পৰিচয়ৰ,
মোৰ বাবেতো আছিল এটাই মাথোঁ
পৰিচয় তোমাৰ,
গঢ়িব খুজিছিলোঁ মই
বন্ধুত্বৰ সেঁতু,
জাতি, ধৰ্ম, ভাষা, দেশৰ তালিকাৰ
উচ্চ প্ৰাচীৰেৰে গঢ়িলা বন্ধু,
বিভাজনৰ হেতু,
তথাপিও জনালোঁ তোমাক
ধন্যবাদ বন্ধু,
নাইযে তালিকাত তোমাৰ
ছালৰ ৰং,
নাভাবিলা মই অন্ধ;
বিদায় বন্ধু আজিলৈ,
আহিবা বিচাৰি
যদি কেতিয়াবা হয় প্ৰয়োজন
মানুহৰ সঙ্গৰ,
থাকিম মই ইয়াতেই,
পৃথিৱীয়ে মোৰ ঘৰ;
অ’, নুসুধিলা মোৰ নাম,
হয়তো তোমাৰ নাই দৰকাৰ,
তথাপিও দিলোঁ পৰিচয় বন্ধু,
মই মানুহ ।

“WRONG”! Week Twenty Eight of My Fifty Two Weeks Journey with the Letter ” W”

We come to this world pure and innocent.  Slowly as we start growing up, we start to learn what is right and what is wrong.  It is out of love and concern about our safety that our elders, knowingly or unknowingly, start teaching us what is good for us and what is bad. We do not have much choice. Left to ourselves we would have learnt everything by trial and error as we grew older, if we would have been lucky enough to survive our curiosity.  So early on in our life, we learn to be subservient to our elders in believing what is right and what is wrong.

Many of us during our adulthood relearn to judge for ourselves what is right and what is wrong. Sadly, many of us never grow up.  We abdicate our responsibilities to judge for ourselves and become blind followers.  We rent out our brains to others to play with it as they like and become puppets, to dance at the will of our puppet masters as they pull our strings.  Simply put, we just become unable to decipher right from wrong.  We let ourselves be manipulated and start believing whatever our puppet masters put into our brains.  Otherwise how can one justify killing for any cause. We have sanctified killings and tortures by awarding Nobel Peace Prize to people whose hands were sullied by the blood of  their fellow human beings, we have declared people as saints who had tortured their fellow human beings in the name of their faith and God.  We always find a reason to justify those actions of ours.  If those killings and tortures can be right, then why other killings and tortures are wrong.

For me, personally, what is wrong is wrong.  We may try to wash that wrong in milk to make it look like pure lily white, but that does not make it right. Concoction of politics and religion, the venomous brew of race, ethnicity, language and nationality has poisoned our minds to such an extent that a day may soon come when the human race, whatever left of it,  may be dancing the dance of ultimate destruction on the cemetery of it’s own creation.

Before I start sounding like one of those sermonizing pundits who invade our houses day and night through the wonders of modern technology at light speed, let me share with you the starting word of the poem for week twenty eight of my fifty two weeks journey with the letter “W”.  You, my dear readers, must have guessed it by now and you are not “WRONG”.


This post is in response to Write Anything Wednesday-Aug-010-2016 sponsored by Writerish Ramblings