The Blueprint of the Next Life

In another birth I'll become the sky,
all the tears in my chest will rain down to soak you!
Or else I'll be earth itself—with its damp, lingering fragrance.
Rows of trees, cascades of vines...everything that exists, I'll make room for in my breast.
When people take their leave, then...I'll be their friend.

Or perhaps I'll be a blazing, tempestuous heroine!
Thousands will want to touch me, want to become like me through devotion.
In my performance I'll bring waves of laughter and tears to their eyes.

Maybe I'll be an ant in a tiny body,
everyone else in the world will be so much larger, only I'll be small,
I'll find my place everywhere with ease!

Sometimes I think I'll be a fierce, combative lover,
when my beloved makes mistakes, I'll methodically tear out his hair.
I'll shelve pride and sulking, say whatever comes to mind right to his face,
the moment he turns this way or that I'll slap him, split his belly laughing as I please!
Keeping faith alive, I'll listen to his past mistakes with blazing eyes.
Or else I'll be a gentle, virtuous wife, hungry with veil drawn over my head
waiting for my husband's path home. In prayer I'll be his companion,
keeping him a step ahead while I sit behind.

I'll be that sky-blue shirt soaked in my lover's sweat,
clinging to his perspiring body, rolled up in my sleeves
whenever he wipes the beads of sweat from his brow,
I'll find a world of happiness in his body's scent.

I'll give peace as Jibananda's Banalata,
Nazrul's Promila or Rabindranath's Kadambari...
If I can't be any of those, then surely Mujtaba's Shabnam or
Shankha-Sunil's Margaret I'll surely become!

I'll be that torrential rain
where thousands of eyes hold back tears,
or I'll be the flame tree itself, entwined
in your blue beloved's intoxicated hair-knot,
she'll touch me and absent-mindedly search for you!

That jasmine sapling you bought for me, as the plant
grew larger and larger you somehow disappeared...
You'll find me in every flower of that tree, breathe in the fragrance.
Or I'll be that cheap bakul flower garland which
the one who loves you will give you or not...
torn by indecision, angry at herself, returning home
to carelessly leave it folded in a book.

I'll be a thousand letters drenched in lovers' salty tears,
or I'll be a handkerchief sewn by an innocent lover's inexperienced hands!
I'll be that nor'wester storm
in which someone's beloved's blue dupatta flies away,
her tightly bound curly hair comes undone!
Listen girl, keep your lover very carefully.
If you don't, I'll become a mysterious woman
in whose eyes your magnificent lover will drown!

I'll be that song by the lyricist which, humming together,
will age two people of the same soul at opposite ends of the world.
I'll be that soft, melancholy tune of the violin
which will make even a heart of stone yearn with longing!

I'll be the kohl of two eyes, witness to tears or sweet joy.
Or I'll be vermillion, bright red alta or colored powder,
glowing blood-red on parting, feet, cheeks, laughing vibrantly.
The beginning or blossoming of two people's shared path—both will happen through me.

I'll be a bright little child, speaking in half-formed words when speech emerges,
reciting a hundred wrong rhymes, staying at mother's breast or father's lap.
Or else in this whole life I'll only be a mother, many children surrounding me,
embracing them all to my chest, I'll sleep contentedly at night.

I'll be that poem which keeps the poet awake
night after night without fail, which until written
makes the poet terribly ill. That poem will include
crowds of thousands of poetry-mad people who float away
on the poem's commas, semicolons like a mad procession!
I could well be a novel too, become some small character
in a great novel, the very character that turns the plot.

I'll be mother's twelve-and-a-half-hand sagging sari
which will carry mother's body scent,
will have spice stains here and there, a bunch of keys in the pallu,
perhaps that sari will have some tears somewhere too.

I'll be father's strong hands with which father
holds the whole family close to his chest,
those hands that smile with wet eyes seeing my success,
or I'll simply be that pair of eyes.

Are you listening to me? I'll be a bird, oh, a bird!
I'll fly around the whole world. I'll shatter all the nine-to-five routines.
I'll be that mischievous girl, a daredevil from childhood,
roaming from branch to branch of trees, returning home
muddy at dusk, plunging my wrist into pickled chaltas,
listening to grandma's scolding, and grinning with all my teeth showing!

If I'm born once more I'll spend time counting precisely,
won't waste even one second. I'll live brilliantly,
or I'll spend time without sleeping, savoring every moment!

Oh...listen! In another birth I won't be a woman,
...and a man? No no, I won't be that either!
I'll only be human...in the next birth, seven births, a hundred births!