Mid December Days
~Abu Shahed Chowdhury

Stacks of hay are stacked,
Field after field is yellow
The colorful festival of the world follows the traditional customs
Yet a very unfathomable sunlight—sharp, yet how soft!
I want to go this December.
This December I want to go back to my old days
I want to go to my childhood teenage this December
I want to go to the quiet softness of Shitalpati
I want to go to my grandfather’s house
A new inquisitive eye of the colored halo
I want to fly with the colorful wings of a butterfly
Wild youths graze where sheep flock
I want to wander from the beginning of the world to the beginning,
I want to die with a strong thirst for beauty
Colorful ambient music in the heat
In a civilized society.
I want to get lost beyond the horizon
Lying on a haystack in a ripe paddy field I want to see the clear sky—the sky that is lost in the sky
many of you
The lessons of this world are crowded with many disappointments;
However, I see a little light in December
I move to your city in December.
Walking in an unfamiliar alley-sleepy alley
See the interaction of the people of the old century with the new century
See the Nirvana coating of the festival
Watch the day without fear
I see unapologetic submission at the last minute,
Then I left your city in the shapeless estuary.

One day the Attorney General said, one day the release will come,
How many days have come, but that day has not come!
Then after millions of years I came again to my city,
Girls greeted me again,
The army marched with respect.
How many cares of the eternal youth became busy with me,
People flocked to the highway to see me once, the airport road became a sea of people in an instant.
After the reception on the Grand Trunk Road I reached my abode,
How many bureaucrats left their busy schedules and came for obedience.
The city was festooned with political banners,
The essence of which is only, and only to greet me!
The headline in the newspaper about me is,
I am the hot topic of the midnight talk show.
Political analysts, researchers of International Politics are busy figuring out my next motive:
I told everyone just one thing—I want love to win, so this December
I invite you to my city!
Mid December craze will touch you if you come here.
Earth’s bosom on the festival of Navanna,
Pithepuli’s date at the intersection of the city,
Like a distant suburban village on a hazy afternoon,
You will remember for ages the relish of fingerlicking food in the brightest afternoon,
The wire of time will never fall on the mind
Quiet at night the two of us will walk in the streets of the city.
In the eternally safe city, I will go around in a rickshaw, sometimes stop by the urban lake, See another day on the downhill urban road,
That day, the day that life is empty!