I Have never heard my mother

WOMEN'S MEDIANET
Here is a translation of a Bangla poem by Samshur Rehman, a poet from Bangladesh, sent by a friend. Please tell me if you liked it.

I have never heard my mother …

I’ve never heard my mother singing.
Did she ever sing me a lullaby
In those faraway nights of childhood?
I wish I could recall …

Even before her body reached the fullness of spring
When she was closer to the age of
Picking up mangos scattered by a storm
In lonely afternoons and evenings
No tune ever grew up on her like a silent creeper
Lest she be heard by elders …

And even in her husband’s home, my mother
Remained far too silent, far too much in the shadows,
And so far as I know, was never overcome by music.
In between cutting fish or grinding turmeric
Or perhaps in the afternoon, after swabbing the courtyard
And rinsing wiping the dishes sparkling bright
Bending down on the sewing machine, darning a torn shirt,
Hanging clothes on the clotheshorse,
After sending me off to the playground with a kiss,
In her moments of leisure, while she pretended to do her hair,
Did she ever hum a tune?
Such a long time I’ve lived with her, but never found out …

It’s as if throughout her life she has stored all her songs
In a wooden chest that reminds us of our sorrows.
Presently from their stringed bodies, they exude rarely,
Not tunes, but the pungent smell of naphthalene.