How Lucky I Am
Kamal Salahin
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

How lucky I am—
I remain normal still,
I have not become intoxicated
Like those strange creatures
Who have nothing to offer
To my listless body.
I cannot recognize my home;
The rooms fall into disarray,
And the doors drift away
The moment my shadow touches the ground.

How fortunate I am—
That my love was not trapped
Within the covers of civilization.
I did not have to sniff the soles of shoes
To enter an earthly paradise,
Where painted affection
And factory-made love devour
The manuscripts of human souls.
And all the flowers keep burning
Amidst dazzling budgets.

I am truly very lucky.
I am the only customer of my own shop
I buy and sell whatever I please,
whenever I wish.
I do not run after a livelihood
In a line of rats,
Following the piper.
I do not have to eat poison-laced biscuits,
Nor do I have to buy a night’s sleep
At the pharmacy on the corner.

How fortunate I am—
My tattered clothes stand guard
Over my very being, fearless.
I possess no suit of thunder,
Nor a garment of lightning,
Like the Superman-gentlemen—
Who hawk sweets in Hell
And plunder everyone’s future.
The ants march in a line—
Along which path?