Assam poets:手伸向胸中余烬取暖

海外文苑

本刊发表于纽约《综合新闻报》第894期The above was published in New York Newspaper 'Compact News ' edition#894 当代阿萨姆诗歌的批评视角 　　这组阿萨姆诗歌最鲜明的共同特质，在于意象的丰饶、哲思的深度，以及将个人经验、社会现实与印度文化记忆融为一体的能力。房屋、河流、石头、雨、火、鸟与花，都成为通向存在、死亡、记忆、身份、性别与社会创伤等命题的入口。自然因而并非单纯的装饰，而成为承载内在经验与历史经验的语言。 Rajeev Baruah 的诗歌与国际现代诗中实验性、智性与游戏精神的一面有着鲜明的亲和力。在《星期日》中，达利、里佐斯、厨房、扁面饼、河流、无人驾驶的汽车、柠檬片与希腊阳光，被置于一个不可思议的诗性星座之中。现实不断滑向超现实，从而打破习以为常的感知方式。 相比之下，Jnan Pujari 的《织机》承载着最沉重的社会现实。火葬场、旃陀罗、鲜血、仇恨、母亲，以及“我胸中的余烬”，共同汇聚为对暴力、边缘化、历史与人类苦难的沉思。在这里，诗歌成为承载亲历创伤的容器。 《房屋》将一座普通住宅转化为存在主义寓言：房屋坚实而确定，人自身的存在却始终处于不稳定之中。《无题》则沿着一条渴望的轨迹展开——落叶渴望回到枝头，烟雾渴望回到火焰的心脏，石头渴望进入人的心灵，最终诗中的“我”融入爱人，在分离、转化与回归之中寻找自我，呈现出一种东方意味浓郁的哲学思考。 《石花》与《雨之织机》更加突出印度文化记忆与祖辈传承。《雨之织机》中，西塔琴、祖母、织机、天地、祖先与彩虹构成一张完整的象征网络，雨因而成为记忆、哀伤、爱情以及代际精神遗产的载体。《石花》则将石头、呼吸、人的胸膛与花朵彼此连接，形成一幅关于凝固、更新、死亡与重生的循环图景。 M. Kamaluddin Ahmed 的《小鲤鱼》展现出成熟的跨文化想象。昆德拉、歌德、贝多芬与微小的鲤鱼被置于同一压缩的诗性空间之中，形成微小与宏大之间令人惊异的碰撞。《祈祷》则探究语言与沉默、表达与禁锢、信仰与超越之间的张力。 Bijoy Sankar Barman 的诗歌倾向于现代主义的心理象征。在《转变》中，蚱蜢、水虫、古老的池塘、余烬与“疲惫的哨兵”，成为躁动不安的意识投影。《河流之上》则采用更为安静克制的语调，使漂流木、黄鸟与水下的鱼儿逐渐转化为记忆、缺席与死亡的意象。 Bornali Borgohain 的《女人》兼具鲜明的女性意识与对女性社会处境、内在生命的关注。门闩、窗户、火焰、面纱、花朵，以及弗里达·卡罗与玛雅·安吉罗，共同构成关于禁锢、韧性、创造与解放的象征景观。《我的天空》则转向哲学性的抽象，从天空可以被分割为碎片这一命题出发，延伸至感知、语言、出生、死亡以及人类理解陌生世界的努力。 《鸟瞰》尤其以构思的独创性见长。“鱼的目光”伸向天空，而“鸟的眼睛”则反向沉入水中，形成一次优雅的视角倒置。诗歌最终留下一个未被解决的问题：“那条直线的另一端／一定会是我吗？”正是这种拒绝给出答案的开放性，使诗意得以久久回荡。 总体而言，这些诗歌展现出一种由印度传统、地域经验、现代意识与人类共同命题交汇而成的诗歌文化。美与苦难、私人情感与集体记忆、自然与历史，共同存在于同一诗性景观之中。 因此，当代阿萨姆诗歌不应仅仅被视为印度文学中的一种地域性表达，而应被看作一种独特的文学声音——一种使地域性与普遍性共存的诗歌。其最有力量的作品证明：地方性并不意味着狭隘，而文化的特殊性恰恰可以成为通向普遍性的源泉。在这种扎根与超越之间的张力中，正蕴藏着当代阿萨姆诗歌持久的生命力。(佩英） A Critical Perspective on Contemporary Assamese Poetry The most distinctive quality shared by this body of Assamese poetry is its richness of imagery, philosophical depth, and ability to unite personal experience, social reality, and Indian cultural memory. Houses, rivers, stones, rain, fire, birds, and flowers become gateways to questions of existence, mortality, memory, identity, gender, and social trauma. Nature is not merely decorative; it becomes a language of inner and historical experience. Rajeev Baruah’s poetry shows a strong affinity with experimental and intellectually playful modernism. In “On a Sunday,” Dalí, Ritsos, a kitchen, flatbreads, a river, an unmanned car, lemon slices, and Greek sunlight form an improbable constellation. Reality slips into the surreal, disrupting habitual perception. Jnan Pujari’s “The Loom” carries the greatest weight of social reality. The cremation ground, Chandala, blood, hatred, the mother, and the “embers in my chest” converge into a meditation on violence, marginalisation, history, and human suffering. Poetry here becomes a vessel for lived trauma. “House” turns an ordinary dwelling into an existential allegory: the house is solid and certain, while human existence remains unstable. “Untitled” traces a cycle of longing—from leaf to branch, smoke to fire, stone to the human heart, and finally the speaker into the beloved—in an Eastern meditation on separation, transformation, and return. “Stone-Flowers” and “The Loom of the Rain” foreground Indian cultural memory and ancestral inheritance. In the latter, the sitar, grandmother, loom, earth and sky, ancestors, and rainbow form a symbolic network in which rain becomes a vessel for memory, grief, love, and generational inheritance. “Stone-Flowers” similarly links stone, breath, the human chest, and flowers in a cycle of petrification, renewal, death, and rebirth. M. Kamaluddin Ahmed’s “Carplets” demonstrates sophisticated cross-cultural imagination. Kundera, Goethe, Beethoven, and tiny carp create a striking collision between the infinitesimal and the monumental. “Prayer” explores the tension between language and silence, expression and confinement, faith and transcendence. Bijoy Sankar Barman leans toward modernist psychological symbolism. In “Transition,” the grasshopper, water insect, ancient pond, embers, and “weary sentinel” become projections of an unsettled consciousness. “Riverine” adopts a quieter register, turning driftwood, a yellow bird, and fish beneath the water into images of memory, absence, and mortality. Bornali Borgohain’s “Women” combines feminist consciousness with images of confinement, resilience, creativity, and liberation, drawing Frida Kahlo and Maya Angelou into its symbolic landscape. “My Sky” moves toward philosophical abstraction, opening questions of perception, language, birth, death, and human understanding. “Bird’s-Eye View” is notable for its originality of conception. The “fish’s gaze” reaches toward the sky while the “bird’s eye” descends into water, reversing perspective. Its final question—“that at the other end of that straight line / it will be me?”—remains unresolved, giving the poem its lingering power. Taken together, these poems reveal a poetic culture shaped by the intersection of Indian tradition, regional experience, modern consciousness, and universal human concerns. Beauty and suffering, intimacy and collective memory, nature and history inhabit the same landscape. Contemporary Assamese poetry therefore deserves to be encountered not merely as a regional expression within Indian literature, but as a distinctive literary voice in which the regional and the universal coexist. Its strongest poems demonstrate that the local need not be provincial, and that cultural specificity can become a source of universality. In this tension between rootedness and transcendence lies the enduring promise of contemporary Assamese poetry. (Christine Chen） <h3>拉吉夫·巴鲁阿（RAJEEV BARUAH），印度著名阿萨姆语诗人、作家，出版八部诗集。曾获穆宁·博尔科托基诗歌奖，任全印广播电台台长。作品译成多国语言，入选古尔扎尔编《一日一诗》。 </h3> 星期日⁠ 一个星期日清晨， 萨尔瓦多·达利 突然走进我们的厨房 他来了， 摘下舌头 让厨娘出去捉虱子 便开始 把面团擀成 奇形怪状的烙饼 在火上烤熟 不知道 那究竟是什么 只知 它足以让我们 饱到黄昏 暮色降临 我走向海滩 看见一条河 从扬尼斯·里索斯的小指尖 流出 汇入大海 清晨一杯 浓黑的茶尚未饮尽 岸边已停着一辆车 无人驾驶 四只车轮 是圆圆的柠檬片 它载着游客 游览希腊的阳光 海礁与橄榄树 今天 我们也要登上那辆车—— 只要 诗歌允许 ⁠ON A SUNDAY<div> One Sunday morning Salvador Dalí suddenly walked into our kitchen. He arrived, took his tongue off, and sending the cook off for lice-picking began flattening the dough into misshapen rotis and cooked them over the fire. We did not know what we had only that it kept us full till evening. Toward dusk I went to the beach where I saw the river flowing from Yiannis Ritsos’s little finger merging into the sea. With the morning cup of black tea a car waited on the shores, driverless its wheels round slices of lemon. It showed tourists around the Grecian sun, sea rocks and olive trees. Today we will board that car too, if poetry allows it. Note: Yiannis Ritsos (1909–1990) was one of the most important poets of modern Greece. (Translated by Anindita Kar)</div> 吉南·普贾里（JNAN PUJARI），印度著名阿萨姆语诗人、作家、剧作家、翻译家。毕业于迪布鲁加尔大学。2016年凭《云之旅》获印度国家文学学院奖，并获国家电影奖金莲花奖及2015年克兰提卡尔文学奖。作品关注社会现实与边缘群体。 织机 鸟舍弃羽毛 树舍弃种子 新羽 将生长 新种子 终将萌发 于是， 光铺开它的织机 “光啊，光啊——” 一声又一声 巴尔莫伊娜 沿这条路走出去的 再未归来 如晨星 啊，母亲 十年 在我眼底 悄然消失 如炉膛里 渐熄的火 直到黎明 一双双血红的眼睛 如燃烧的余烬 死死盯着我的眼睛 仿佛在问： 你闻不到吗？ 我伤口渗出的血腥？ 你看不见吗？ 我的身体 浸透鲜血？ 我是那个“旃陀罗”， 守望火葬场里 一具又一具尸体 我的心 在仇恨中燃烧 起来吧，起来—— 把你的手 伸向我胸中的余烬 取一点温暖 THE LOOM<div> As the bird forsakes its feathers As the tree forsakes its seeds New feathers grow New seeds sprout And there the light spreads out its loom 'Light O light' shouting and shouting Barmoina went out this road, never to return Like the morning star, O mother A decade disappears in the apples of my eyes Like the fire burning out in the hearth At daybreak Each red eye like a burning ember Keeping its eye on my eye, says Haven't you got the smell of blood oozing out of my wound? Haven't you seen my body drenched in blood? I am that 'chandaal' watching each corpse in the cremation ground My heart is burning with hatred Rise, O rise and warm your hand on the embers of my chest. </div> 卢特法·哈努姆·萨利玛·贝古姆博士（Dr. Lutfa Hanum Salima Begum ），著名阿萨姆语诗人、翻译家，出版七部诗集。曾获穆宁·博尔科托基奖及多项文学奖，作品入选企鹅、哈珀柯林斯等选集。曾任科顿大学阿萨姆语系教授。 房子<div> 你 建了一所房子 门上 挂起门牌 夜里 落下一把锁 以防 圆满的欢愉 逃逸 你 建了一所房子 从此 不再无家可归 然而 焦虑却日益高涨 无端地 你为房子 疯狂 身在家中 渴望出走 人在屋外 又急于归返 即使置身屋檐下 你仍浸在 忧虑的雨里 梦中的春叶 尚未破晓 已在晨光中枯萎 恐惧的子弹 一次次 击中你 就在 你自己的房子里 你始终不明白—— 房子的存在 坚实而确定 而你的存在 并非如此 真实 无法庇护谎言 二者 无法共居 房子 静止而坚决 你 犹疑而无常 房子 沉默不语 而你 满身喧响 然而 也许有一天 你会永远悬挂 如一幅油画 挂在 你亲手建造的 那面墙上 也许会 也许不会 HOUSE You built a house put up a nameplate on the gate a lock at the gate at night to prevent the pleasures of fulfilment from escaping You built a house you are no longer homeless but your anxieties have soared Without reason you go crazy thinking about the house you want to go out when at home and can't wait to return home when you're out Even within the house you are drenched in the rainfall of worries the spring leaves of your dreams desiccate even in the morning sun the bullets of terror hit you within your house You did not understand The house's existence is concrete yours isn't truth cannot protect a lie and they cannot cohabit A house is static and resolute you are uncertain and erratic a house is mute and you're full of noise Still, one day perhaps you will remain hanging as an oil painting on the wall of the house you built Perhaps or perhaps not Translated by: Dibyajyoti Sarma 无题 落叶 渴望一条绿色的路 回到树的枝头 鸟儿 渴望在卵中 重新成为金黄 河流 渴望死去的鱼 重新归来 影子 渴望成为树 成为人的心 烟 渴望一条红色的路 回到火的心脏 水 愿成为石头 石头 渴望溶解 进入人心 而我 融化于你 寻找一条路 回到我自己 穿过绿色 穿过水与石 穿过 词语与曲调 Untitled</div><div> The fallen leaves want a green passage back to the branches of trees The birds want to be yellow inside eggs The river wants that the dead fish return The shadow wants to be trees to be human hearts The smoke wants a red path back to the heart of the fire The water would be stones The stones want to dissolve in human hearts And me, melting in you seek a passage back to me through the green Through water stones words and tunes Translated by: Pradip Acharya </div> 比佐伊·香卡尔·巴尔曼（BIJOY SANKAR BARMAN），印度阿萨姆语著名诗人、翻译家、研究者，著有18部作品。曾获穆宁·巴尔卡塔基奖、印度国家文学学院青年文学奖，并获《印度快报》评选为“印度十大青年作家”。其诗歌已译成多种欧洲语言，并入选《伟大的印度诗歌》。 蜕变 一只看不见的蝗虫 啃噬着 我=心中嫩芽 透过显微镜 镜筒 幽暗身影 来回游移 吹拂 将熄的余烬—— 那是=灵魂中 疲惫的哨兵 一个突如其来的念头 关于一只水虫 夜里独自漂浮 漂过 古老池塘 冰冷水面 寂静 孤独 竟想将我 拖入深渊？ TRANSITION An unseen locust nibbles at the sprouts of my heart Seen through the draw tube of the microscope the shadowy figures that move about blow the dying embers the tired sentries of my soul Why does the sudden thought of a water bug that keeps floating at night all alone over the cold water of the old pond quiet and lonely want to drown me in the abyss 河畔 卡奈库达 —— 心中的河 渐渐安静下来 一截朽木 不知从何处漂来 一只黄鸟 栖息在上 忧伤 孤独 翅膀上 正午 织下一张网 一群色彩斑斓的鱼 从水底 摇曳而上—— 一张张 死去的面孔 以及 被遗忘的笑容 RIVERINE Kanaikhunda the rivulet of my heart quietens down On a rotten piece of wood drifting down from somewhere perches a yellow bird sad and lonely On its wings the noon weaves a net A shoal of colourful fish haul in from the bottom of waters dead faces forgotten smiles <div>库沙尔·杜塔（ KUSHAL DUTTA），印度阿萨姆语诗人、记者、编辑，著有八部诗集。曾获印度文化部文学青年奖学金及多项文学奖，其诗歌被译成多种语言，并入选印度高校教材。现任《Matribhasha》总编辑。</div><div> </div><div> </div>石花 将一束花献给那方石头 安放石上，双手合十 无物可与之交换—— 那方石头正一点点沉入胸膛 从胸口，滚入他的胸口，再滚入她的胸口 呼吸短促，渐渐化作石头 从石头的花园归来 眨动双眼，我见—— 石柱间， 闪烁着一长串呼吸之花 伸展双手 当每一颗胸膛卸下胸中之石 欢舞的花 才重回到树上 一把无形的芥菜籽里， 无处可寻—— 呼吸萌发，呼吸凋零，呼吸又萌发： 春——夏——秋——冬…… 春 汇入 想象的七重色彩 STONE-FLOWERS I offered the bunch of flowers to the piece of stone And laid him on the stone with hands folded in prayer I had nothing else to trade it for The piece of stone was fast settling in my chest Rolling from my chest through his chest to her chest Our short-breathed chests were morphing into stones As I was returning from the garden of stones I saw, until my eyes blinked, Shining against the stone pillars Long flowers of breath with their hands outstretched— Only after each chest sheds the stones will the flowers, dancing with glee, come back to the trees In an invisible handful of mustard seeds nowhere to be found Breath sprouts breath wilts breath sprouts— Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter... Spring Translated from Assamese by Anindita Kar 雨的织机 人人都在弹奏 雨的西塔琴 唯有 雨本身不弹 万物 多少带着浪漫 古老而不朽 一曲深情的旋律 汇聚想象的 七种色彩 而我所见 却是一架传说中的织机 长长双腿 渴望大地 从天空 直抵大地 已逝的祖母 以她的织机 将天地相连 那是 祖母的喜与悲 把梦与现实 织成雨 洒落人间 已逝的祖母 月光下 以绵延的传说丝线 架起经纬 浸润于 西塔琴的七重曲调 在那里 我描摹 久已远去的 祖先之无垠 织成 一道彩虹的纹样 THE LOOM OF THE RAIN Everyone plays the sitar of rain Except rain itself Matter is somewhat romantic Though ancient but time-winning soulful tune of all the seven hues of imagination I saw there but a legendary loom The thirst of the long legs for earth From the sky to the Earth My departed grandma connects from the sky to the Earth Through her loom It is the loom of joy and sorrow of our grandma It showers down dream and reality turned into rain My departed grandma Sets the warp with long long threads of legend In the moonlight of the sky Drenched in the seven tunes of Sitar There I draw The immensity of long lost ancestors In a design of rainbow M·卡马鲁丁·艾哈迈德（M. Kamaluddin Ahmed）印度大学教授、诗人，著有21部作品，其中包括7部诗集。他是当代阿萨姆语诗坛的重要声音，诗作曾收入哈珀柯林斯出版社与企鹅印度出版社出版的诗歌选集。 小鲤鱼 ——读米兰·昆德拉后 裸露着 你们宽阔的脊背 究竟 要演奏怎样的交响曲？ 刚被 放归大地 你们这些 微不足道的小家伙 带着 细若游丝的心跳 难道想让歌德 听见 微小灵魂 微小的挽歌？ 我意识深处，= 小鲤鱼 已经将 贝多芬 圈入右眼 歌德 圈入左眼 CARPLETS (after reading Milan Kundera) Revealing your wide backs What symphony are you presenting ? Just after being put on the ground You weeny lot With your teeny-weeny heart-throbs Do you seek to make Goethe listen To the weeny dirges of weeny souls ? In my consciousness The carplets have enclosed Beethoven with the right eye and Goethe with the left (Translated by Krishna Dulal Barua) 祈祷 未说出口的话 藏在口腔深处的洞穴 一片天光 凝滞在它们之上 一路 撒落着爆米花般的供品 黎明初临 白花开得繁盛 爆米花的色泽 未变， 白花依旧白—— 它们早已忘却 万物变形的法则 牢牢黏在你舌尖的话 说出口之后 被禁锢于祈祷之所 无从脱身， 茫然寻找出口 而你那些 未曾说出口的话 正从祈祷之所缓缓升起 向上帝而去 PRAYER The unuttered words Hide themselves in the caverns of the mouth A patch of heavenly light Rests stuck upon them Offerings of puffed rice All along the road So much of leucas blooms just at daybreak The hues of puffed rice have remained the same The leucas flowers have remained as leucas They’ve forgotten the rules of transformation The words that had stuck firmly in your tongue Are now confined at the prayer-house after getting pronounced Unable to emerge out they’re perplexed over the way of exit Your unuttered words Are emerging from the prayer-house And heading straight towards God (Translated by Krishna Dulal Barua) 博纳莉·博尔戈海因（BORNALI BORGOHAIN），印度阿萨姆语诗人、作家及出版人，著有四部诗集。曾参加印度多地女性作家及区域文学活动，并多次参与印度国家文学学院项目。现为“Akhar Prakash”出版社负责人。 女人 每到这个时节 女人锁上门闩 扣紧门扉， 只为推开窗 每到这个时节 女人在火中烤熟饥饿 蒙着面纱 摆出饭食 每到这个时节 月亮洒下清辉 女人不能迈出门槛 不能解开门闩 走出门 窗 你看 也是通往心灵的门 心灵的世界 美极了—— 水镜之上 缀着华丽的绯红珠串 女人喜欢 拼写那些艰难的词语 她们懂得 抚平散落的、 深浅不一的色斑 也知道 当季的花 终会盛放 精致的女人， 在弗里达的画上看见她们 她们低声呢喃 听见玛雅·安吉罗的声音 这些女人， 美得无与伦比—— 她漫漫长夜 退向天明 让光亮起来 她们知道 当季的花 终会盛放—— 也终会 凋落 Women Around this time the women lock the gates And latches the door, to open the windows. Around this time, the women roast their hunger in the fire and, Veiled, they lay out their meals. Around this time the moon sprinkles her glow The women cannot step out, unlatching the door, beyond the threshold. The windows are doors, you see, to the mind The mind's world is most beautiful! Ornate crimson beads upon a watery mirror. The women love spelling difficult words The women who know to smoothen the scattered blobs of uneven tinge Knows that flowers of the season shall surely blossom These exquisite women, I see in Freida's canvas In their muttering, I hear Maya Angelou's words These women are most beautiful Who keep the night at bay to glow into daylight Who knows that flowers of the season shall surely blossom And fall too! 我的天空 把天空 拼成一块一块—— 这一块 是座房子 那一块 一截树 这一， 一口压水井 那一块， 飘着几件 不安分的衣裳 是的 天空可以 被分割 也可以 以不同的形态 呈现一幅 再寻常不过的图景 曾经 不愿在水中 看见自己的倒影 于是扔下一块石头 击碎水面 脸的形状 被打碎—— 只能是脸 是的， 人可以做到 至多 又会怎样？ 有一次， 给一个人 一块面包 他是否也曾想过 、递给他的 其实是天空一角？ 把天空 一块块拼起来 凝视它， 把头探进 一堂陌生的课 竭力让自己 理解它 终于有机会 开口 将词语 说出来，解释出来—— 这一块 与出生 有关的词 那一块， 与死亡 有关的词 MY SKY I have pieced up the sky If in one piece there is house In another A part of a tree In one piece a tubewell In the other fluttering a few restless clothings Yes One can split the sky like this Can see in different form a very ordinary picture Once I didn't feel like seeing my own reflection in water I threw a stone to break the water The shape of the face One can break only the face Yes one can At the most what may happen Once I gave a person a piece of bread Did he also think that I handed him piece of the sky I piece up the sky and see Stick my head in an unknown lesson Pushing myself hard to understand it As we get the scope We speak and explain up the words In one part some words connected to birth In the other Those connected to death 比巴·拉妮·塔尔库达（Bibha Rani Talukdar），印度阿萨姆语诗人、小说家、统计学副教授，著有三部诗集。作品发表于重要文学刊物及《国家文学学院月刊》，并译成西班牙语发表于墨西哥文学杂志。其诗歌语言凝练，尤擅书写疼痛、情感、性别与社会现实。 鸟瞰 鱼的视线 渴望掠过天空 栖在鸟喙上的 鸟之目 却沉入 澄澈的水底 你曾许诺 做一个弓手 以目为箭 学会 斜斜地 望穿水面 寂静如针的会场 忽然颤动—— 鱼的两滴泪 掀起波澜 在记忆的双湖 细小的圆涟漪里 鱼影 骤然分裂 漂向远方 追逐影子 令你困惑 说书人 对此再熟悉不过 群臣已被 添油加醋的故事 哄入梦乡 而你 仍在寻找 水的彼岸 那一只眼睛 当你拉紧弓弦 射出你的目光 你怎能如此笃定—— 那条直线的 另一端 会是我 Bird's-Eye view<div> Original in Assamese:Bibharani Talukdar Translated into English:Krishna Dulal Baruah The view of the fish Seeking to glide across the sky Perched upon a bird's beak is avian In the crystal waters below You've pledged To immure the eyes by being an archer Acquiring the skill of looking slantingly Across the waters Quaking the conference-hall sunk in pin-drop silence Suddenly two tear-drops of a fish Raise waves in the twin-lake of reminiscence In the little round ripples The shadow of the fish split apart floats away In quest of shadows you're much distressed This is something understood all too well By the raconteur The courtiers are lulled to sleep By the spiced-up tales Churning the water Even then you were in quest For the eye on the other side of the waters While pulling the string to release the arrow of your view-point How could you be so sure That the other point of the straight line was me 片刻之前，我们还…… 片刻之前 我们还在 同一所房子里 呼吸着 同一缕空气 可我 几乎不曾真正认识他 我看见了吗？ 还是从未留意—— 他发间 那些苍白的划痕 还有那双 枯井般的眼睛 滴答，滴答 从他身上落下的 究竟是什么盐 我不知 我们还没有亲密到 能够看懂这一切 片刻之前 他刚刚 焚烧了儿子的遗体 最后一截柴木 落上火葬堆 发出一声呻吟—— 财富 亲缘 都短暂 青春 短暂 骨肉之情 短暂 Moments ago we were (olop agoloike aami) Moments ago We were in the same house the same air we inhaled Yet I hardly knew him Did I see or didn't notice the white scratches in his hair his dry eyes like dead wells in the drip-drop from his body I did not know what salt melted We were not that intimate to make out Moments ago he cremated the body of his son The last piece of firewood placed on the pyre Moaned Transient is wealth kith or kin Transient is youth Transient is family bond</div><div>(Translated by:Nirendra Nath Thakuria)</div>