From Lalupara To Dhaka Poem by Razu Ahmed Mamun

I have come to this digital world by walking from the middle Ages.
My body still smells of mangrove forests and canal mud.

I have come to Dhaka, a huge city in the world full of tradition.
Where lifeless plastic waste accumulates next to skyscrapers.
Where the busy streets are like the currents of ocean-going canals,
millions of unknown faces pass by.

I have come to this digital world by walking from the Middle Ages.
My body still smells of mangrove forests and canal mud.


I have come from Lalupara,
a small beautiful village on the shores of the Bay of Bengal - where I was born.
Where the middle Ages were flowing even in the late twentieth century.
The stories of Adam, Noah, Moses, Muhammad and King Solomon
seemed to walk on our little path.
The clouds in our sky used to create the illusion of mythical stories.
There were countless familiar faces, neighbors, affection and the rule of affection.

I have come to this digital world by walking from the middle Ages.
My body still smells of mangrove forests and canal mud.

Sunday's bustling Taltali Bazaar, boats full of seasonal fruits, shiny hilsa - my childhood.
Sakina near the sea and Nidra's canal - jumping from the trees - my childhood.
The vast green paddy fields of the monsoon, walking long distances in the mud - my childhood.
The king-queen of Jatrapala of Laupara Bazaar in the month of Poush - Mythical night - My childhood.
Sunrise with the call of the titmouse, mother's scolding, the separa of the maktab, panta rice and
'My Book Part One' in the picture drawn by Hasem Khan - my childhood.

I have been walking since the Middle Ages to this digital world.
My body still smells of mangrove forests and canal mud.

Getting lost in the mangrove forest of Tengragiri, searching for wild fruits -
was the joy of my childhood.
The familiar faces of trees and vines, searching for birds' eggs - was the joy of my childhood.
Catching crabs in the wild canals, bringing fire from the fishermen's boats
and burning those - was the joy of my childhood.
The waves crashing on the Behula beach, the hot afternoon - was the joy of my childhood.

I have been walking since the middle Ages in this digital world.
My body still smells of the mangrove forest and the mud of the canal.
---By Razu Ahmed Mamun