The stitch

(Translated from original Assamese by Rubee Das)  It’s just one stitch that has come off, let it be. It’s just a single stitch out of hundreds more. How does it matter after all? Without stitching nothing is possible.   Even my grey-haired grandpa had stitched A red altar cover. When asked, he said The size of an altar decides the cover big or small. Houses too Ought to be stitched going by the measurements of courtyards and boundaries. It’s after all true, the globe – stitched with small or big alleys – Is what ours is.   Yet, there’s a fear. Over the alleys the borders are patched up. I get envious seeing the live bullets’ Freedom of crossing both the sides. Those war-torn refugees – they’ve witnessed the desolate mountain passes. The stitches of their gowns have come off. They all need a bunch of threads urgently, The wise leader waits Waving a needle for all, He tells them to dig graves for the dead, and Stitches the hearts of tormented men and women. (Samira* showed me those portrayals; how mighty the stitches of those images are!)   The other day a stitch of your blouse came off. Let it come off. You’ll stitch again. We’ve stitched concrete roads across enchanting vales Stitched hills with tracks and pathways. We’ve also stitched invisible routes across rivers Like the way we stitch together tattered hearts with the needle of love.   These days, the ones who stitch deposits in foreign banks Have increased manifolds. The food menus are being patched up With rising prices of petrol and diesel. Life has been pierced by death warrants. Nowadays, when I walk out of home I look at the stitches carefully, so that I do not have to part with my shadow On the road. Because homes, clothes, hearts Even rivers and borders can be stitched, but one’s shadow cannot be stitched, after all.   Just one stitch has come off, let it be. These days of misery have snatched away the stitches of our hearts; Let’s go to the shadow of that solitary Polaax**With the needle and threads of love, we’ll rest there, come.  *Samira – The Iranian filmmaker Samira Makhmalbaf.** Polaax – Flame of the forest (bauhinia), symbolizes romantic association in Assamese literature and society.[This poem was first published in Indian Literature, the journal of Sahitya Akademi]