“Mad Evening, Blue Moon” Humayun Kabir, MSJ

 

“Mad Evening, Blue Moon”

Humayun Kabir, MSJ

29/04/26

I will die—

that is true.

You will die—

that too is true.

But—

I am not speaking of your death or mine.

I am speaking of this soft, damp, Boishakh evening—

will it suddenly cough once

and then keep coughing endlessly

like a frail old man?

Has it, too, grown old?

Will it age too quickly,

and before you and I are gone,

will it die as well?

Assyria turned to dust,

Babylon to ashes—

perhaps that is only natural.

But in trying to prolong

our uncivilized civilization,

will pollution rot its lungs,

and kill the tender moonlight,

the rose’s love-scent?

Will those who come after us

inherit poetic eyes—

a storm of senses intoxicated

by the scent of jackfruit?

When will this so-called civilization meet its end?

On a wild earth, free from the smell of gunpowder,

far beyond a stony Mars,

under a familiar, ancient sky—

if a blue moon rises again,

perhaps you and I will not see it,

but our blood-vines will.

Will they find, at the edge of that dream

we store in the cupboards of our hearts,

a certain green address—

a place they can call their own?