Ya ascienden a 1.400 las
víctimas del lado palestino, la mayoría niños y civiles. De la India me van
llegando más poemas comprometidos. He traducido un texto de Manash
Bhattacharjee, un joven poeta indio que escribe en inglés.
Children of war in Palestine.
By MANASH BHATTACHARJEE.
1.
The little girl
Runs after a butterfly
Among the graves
The little girl
Runs after a butterfly
Among the graves
2.
Their ghosts play cricket
In the ramshackle courtyard
After the boys leave
Their ghosts play cricket
In the ramshackle courtyard
After the boys leave
3.
Her nose bleeding
The girl in her father’s lap
Shouts at the world
Her nose bleeding
The girl in her father’s lap
Shouts at the world
4.
He draws giant insects
Flying down from the sky
Aimed at his eyes
He draws giant insects
Flying down from the sky
Aimed at his eyes
5.
Absorbed in prayer
Before the house went up in flames
He pleaded mercy for jasmines
Absorbed in prayer
Before the house went up in flames
He pleaded mercy for jasmines
6.
She ran faster than her shadow
Shells chasing her heels
Trading a slipper with death
She ran faster than her shadow
Shells chasing her heels
Trading a slipper with death
7.
The soldier lifts the boy up
Stares at his guts
And hears a hollow rumble of wings
The soldier lifts the boy up
Stares at his guts
And hears a hollow rumble of wings
8.
Through broken walls
Boys play hide-and-seek at noon
With rocket fire
Through broken walls
Boys play hide-and-seek at noon
With rocket fire
9.
As a little girl
Walaa thought barbed wires were meant
To keep out the soldiers
As a little girl
Walaa thought barbed wires were meant
To keep out the soldiers
10.
Between a bird and a girl:
“Why are they cutting down the trees?”
“To drive you away, so we can’t fly.”
Between a bird and a girl:
“Why are they cutting down the trees?”
“To drive you away, so we can’t fly.”
11.
Nights explode on his ears
He dreams he is a burning star
Sleep is another country
Nights explode on his ears
He dreams he is a burning star
Sleep is another country
12.
She stares at the sea’s blue
Her blue heart bluer than the sea
The air bluer than her heart
She stares at the sea’s blue
Her blue heart bluer than the sea
The air bluer than her heart
13.
In a battered street
Little Yasin lies dead with flag in hand
The Rabbi’s cheek is a moist wall
In a battered street
Little Yasin lies dead with flag in hand
The Rabbi’s cheek is a moist wall
© Manash Bhattacharjee
Manash Bhattacharjee is a poet, translator and a
political science scholar from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. His
poems have appeared in The London Magazine, New Welsh Review, First Proof:
The Penguin Book of New Writing from India (Volume 5), George Szirtes’
Blog, The Missing Slate, The Palestine Chronicle, The Little Magazine,
Pratilipi and Coldnoon. His first collection of poetry, Ghalib’s
Tomb and Other Poems, was published recently by The London Magazine.
Corre entre las tumbas
Tras una mariposa
Después de partir los chicos
Sus fantasmas juegan al cricket
En el patio en ruinas
Sus fantasmas juegan al cricket
En el patio en ruinas
Sangrando por la nariz
En el regazo de su padre
La niña grita al mundo
Que bajan del cielo
Apuntando a sus ojos
Antes de que la casa ardiera en llamas
Rogó piedad para los jazmines
Proyectiles chocando en sus talones
Cambiando una zapatilla por la muerte
Mira sus tripas
Y oye un estruendo de alas
Los niños juegan al escondite a mediodía
Lanzando cohetes
Wallaa pensó que los alambres de púas eran
Para no dejar paso a los soldados
“¿Por qué están cortando los árboles?”
“Para llevarte lejos y que no podamos volar.”
Él sueña que es una estrella llameante
El sueño es otro país
Su azul corazón más azul que el mar
El aire más azul que su corazón
El pequeño Yasin yace muerto sujetando una bandera
La mejilla del rabino es una pared húmeda
