[A tribute to the Burmese people from across the Bay of Bengal where Nargis almost struck]
A Cyclone Named After a Flower
Farida Majid
"The nightingale is hushed in the nargis grove
Listening to the grief of wild roses shedding petals."
--- A Bengali song by Kazi Nazrul Islam (1899-1976)*
In the hush of the aftermath of Nargis, the cyclone,
A nightingale, perched upon a household's wreck,
Listens to the bruised humans groan
In grief over missing loved ones
Blown away like wild rose petals.
The backyard briar by the riverbank, half submerged now,
Holds aloft a few wind-lashed twigs.
Caught in its thorns is a maroon-colored robe
Wrapped around a putrid body
That once was the temple of a mind.
O cyclone, the wanton destroyer of such temples,
That callow meteorologist or whoever named you Nargis
Could not have known how the mind lives on,
The Buddha lives on, dharma lives on, sangha lives on,
And flowers grow again in nargis groves.
A half moon, waning and wan, stares down
Across the Irrawady river valley.
The cyclone did not touch the garish palace in the North
Where General Than Shwe sits and rubs his fat old belly.
But wherever Nargis touched, a nargis will grow,
Bright and resplendent, and waiting to be placed upon
Daw Aung San Suu Kiy's sweet chignon.
*[English translation of Nazrul song by Farida Majid]
©2008, Farida Majid
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