(translated: If you are to speak, say it clearly)
After ‘Ami Chai’ by Mahadev Saha
Gentle whispers and soft touches
are not welcome here.
No sweet nothings, no what-could-bes.
I don’t care for tracing letters
on my back to lull me to sleep.
Tumi kisu khoyleh, forishkaar bhabeh khoyoh.
Ami sai na stolen glances
or pregnant pauses.
It means nothing to me
when you ask about my day;
habits and routines don’t tend to change.
Tumi kisu khoyleh, forishkaar bhabeh khoyoh.
Ami sai bloodthirsty winds
that shove you against me,
name them Storm Babet or Isha.
Want searing sun against my bare skin,
commanding non-existent tan lines.
Tumi kisu khoyleh, forishkaar bhabeh khoyoh.
I want the thrashing and crashing of waves
echoing against my eardrums.
Want to belong with the Earth,
intertwining beneath the soil. My roots
overrun every crevice and crease of you.
Tumi kisu khoyleh, forishkaar bhabeh khoyoh.
Akiba Azad is a British Bengali writer, born and raised in the North East of England. Her work explores identity, culture and love. She has been featured in pseudokulture Edition 01, and has performed spoken word for events such as, Poets in the City, Newcastle Fringe Festival, and Novum Festival. Find her on Instagram @kibwrites.
