This city, what has it given me
These two hands that built each building
This city, what has it given me
My hands that cleaned the drain
Brought food to your door
Made each street footpath drinking hole
The heart of each brick in your home is stained with my blood
Drops of my sweat on the floor of your factory
This city, has it given me anything but thirst at high noon
I had brought myself to this city on a dream
Planned a family under a tarpaulin tent
Sitting on the pavement my wife
Pushed her dried breast into the mouth of our child
While I carried pots of butter on my head
To feed yours
I boiled the entrails of a chicken in my pot
And delivered Shahi Kabab to your mouth
I drown in a darkness that’s darker than the inside of the factory
While you take an afternoon nap on your bed of notes
With my hands I pulled every cart in the city
My youth peeled off with every turn of the rickshaw pedal
This city what did it give me but walking and burning
There’s no more fermented rice it’s been ten days now
And this city changes channels to bide time
Your channels don’t shout about my hunger
Don’t show you how I am walking to my death
The city I built, so one day I may find joy here
This city is not mine anymore
Look at the streams of the walking dead
Leaving your city
What did the city give me
My hands laboured to build each building
Apart from stabbing me in the heart
What has this city given me
It was me in your railway lines
It was me in your vegetable markets
It was me in your labour lines
It was me in your sweeper colonies
I came for two handfuls of rice
I came for a foot of space
City, what am I to you?
Tell me, city, I got here
Where do I turn and go???
Translated from Bengali by Q and Hina.
