Fugitive

People call me fugitive my heart aches . Still I want to be a fierce salmon-trout into the tank of life. Where will I flee when every night I feel my beloved wife's breath on my face and eyes? Where and how will I hurry away when I feel the wearied body of my baby on breast? So I stand by the door all day long in favour of life. When chickens coming out from henroost in the morning move to the mire crowing feebly, I quickly get up from my bed and cover the face of fire with my hands. Didn't I fearlessly jump into the water of the Bay of Bengal when a tiny girl of the water-slaves suddenly got confined to the waves going to search for the golden conch? When my better-half embittered by the oppression of cockroaches goes smashing the whole race of insects, don't I then make her delighted by praising her sari? [Translated by Sayeed Abubakar]