Childhood Never Returns Poem by Md. Mujib Ullah

In the exhausted afternoon
I am solitary.
Blusterous infancy
returns back
in my remembrance`s garner
as Golden Deer.
The pond behind our home,
neighboring palm-trees,
a small Jujube tree
or mango trees on the pond`s furbelow
were not existed in the past.
There was spacious steppe
enriched with full of grains,
and a half-dead Doba at the north.
Now Pineapple & Karai trees
are in scattered appearance, and
few coconut trees raise their nobs thither.
Adjacent to it, a harmonic bamboo bush
shows its Master-class arts of glittering beauty;
snapping noise of leaves, uprooted twigs
by sudden windy storm add thrilling flavour- -

A large yard in front of my room
looks like a soccer field.
In the middle of the lawn a fine path
links to the yonder canal through Zigzig way.
This narrow canal blessed with a long heritage
loses her appeal a bit for weighing age, grayish flow
but still becomes so adventurous in the rainy season.
A footbridge over the canal
was made to cross its way- -
Village road was unsuitable for communication;
none the less we had to use it,
there`s no other alternative,
a common communication culture in Bangladesh!
The north-yard away from home
was cyclopean in size; fields remained fertile
and lucrative by various types of crops- -

Little I followed my father
every morning to pass
more than half a krosa
along the tiny village path.
Where my school stands,
famous Shiberhat welcomes- -
Besides, noisy Hut twice a week
whispers the life of the commons.
Damaged semi-constructed road
is above of reparation!
Dilapidated lean civilization
and loutish culture
are the outcome of
exploiting classes' rapacious visions- -

My many childhood memories
lost forever, I can`t recollect those today.
Have to say lots of words
but untold realities freeze into infinite cold- -
Video clips of my mind
become almost obscure
or grimy, gray, empty.
After so many days
about a decade past incidents
touch my heart, my nerves.
In fact the reality
to accept is simply
very difficult & troublesome- -

My those shinning days
never return again I know,
my mind quietly cries
to get back infancy though- -
Before becoming a prey
to so-called urban civilization
unmechanized countless day
of my past was full of multicolored tradition.
My incomputable wish if I could return
to my golden past, juvenile time
where I had friends, playmates, my sister`s urn;
mother`s endless love with lullaby rhyme- -
Infinite affection, adoration & love
I wish I could be a child again to have- -