The New Nation - Internet Edition

Wives of a few bureaucrats

Abdul Gani Hazari

We are wives of a few bureaucrats.

O lord, we turn our faces towards you,

give us relief we are distressed at rest.

Our husbands dived deep into the files

(They know well

what they'll fish out of 'em)

We are lost in family planning.

That time's passed overcoming us.

We are wives of a few bureaucrats.

We are on the brink of high thinking

from the morning to the evening,

for enjoying colourless pages of fashion

periodicals, looking at Cine Magazine's

nude pictures of health and beauty

that's highly shivering sexy appeal.

On fat's enclosure

the valley of our waists

with rising obese,

widening duality of chins,

worried on fattened breasts;

O lord, we are gasping for breath

on fatty mausoleum.

We are wives of a few bureaucrats.

Our coffer is rich.

Surplus pocket money's kept

under pillow folders;

Helencartis, Anne French milk, Astringent

Deodorant, Hand lotion, Revlon,

Christian dear, and Rubin stein.

Of course, these are extra gifts

to make-up for the deficit

of old and warm love.

The husbands are always proud

of salutes of their orderlies;

opposing others' promotions,

petitions disallowed

and some valued signatures.

Even after returning to residence

zealous for friend's promotion,

loss and profit of pseudonymous business,

telephone, and telephone

and telephone thereafter.

Our Revlon on lips to make up

the foundation of the face,

putting on small round paint

in the center of the forehead,

now withered away along

with the afternoon invitation.

O lord, now the thought of

the second person makes us

indifferent; old lovers,

young one's aunts,

the mothers of the subordinates;

the grandmothers in sister's family,

and the withered away afternoon;

looking at the papers

published in London

of Maggie's love;

Jacqueline's eulogy, coquetry

of Liz Taylor;

measurement of B-B's breasts;

temptation of Lola,

and the suicide of Marlene;

suicide and suicide

that withered away

afternoon invitation.

So O lord, our nocturnal life

seems exhausted and faded away;

the moon beyond the window is bloodless;

copulated body is inert;

the husband is snoring,

sleepless night and tranquilizer;

O lord, there's no other alternatives

but to turn our faces to you,

give us any job-

looking glass in the vanity bag,

foundation and gala-color

and social work;

extravagant use of kindergarten;

reserved our front seats at the ladies' club

or opening of the Children's home

on ex-officio husband's behalf-

We are wives of a few bureaucrats,

O lord, give us a job,

so that we throw ourselves in that. *

*This is the UNESCO-prize winning poem of Abdul Gani Hazari (1921-1976).

Translated by M. Mizanur Rahman