Canvas shoes by Alok Dhanwa

Beside the shining rail lines,

They are old canvas shoes,

Somebody left them behind

And disappeared after a single step

Because the world of shoes is just a single step

 

Following every traveler passing that way

For a single step –

They are old canvas shoes.

Rain-water has accumulated inside them,

In a strong wind, the rain-water moves like feet

 

Continuously getting wet, those shoes are covered with fungus,

And on the thinner-most surface of the soil

They are sprouting also,

I can surely think

That in the decisive moments of a match

These shoes must have burnt hot like the sun.

Inside these shoes are scattered

Roads filled with dust and mountains –

The lost extremes of sounds and fields help them remain.

The lost extremes of sounds and fields –

Which remain outside the needs of man.

How many times the souls of aimless wanderers

Must have descended down their legs into these shoes –

And stayed for months inside these shoes.

Souls –

Beyond terraces and states

So much above sea-level!

 

These canvas shoes

Soft like cigarette and handkerchief

Full of air, like cigarette and handkerchief

Woven, like nests –

Against the cruel phenomena of murder and rape

These shoes are so simple

Tending to grass and language

Reaching close to salt –

And for the mice

These canvas shoes are like the alphabet

From where they learn to bite.

 

Shepherds must have surely come

From where the world of shoes began

Because there is a dense stillness inside shoes

Which cannot be destroyed –

Because in sheep there is a dense stillness even today

From where the ocean can be heard.

And stillness is a thing in which

The seeds of sleep are safe.

From where the world of shoes began

Animals must have surely come.

 

Shoes – which are ancient

Just like boats which are ancient

Even if they were made only yesterday.

Like fruits –

Which are more ancient than shoes and boats

Even if they have ripened only tonight,

Like sails –

Which are much more ancient than our clothes

But our clothes –

Look much more ancient than sails,

And ancientness is a thing

You must shelter in your knees

So that they won’t bend in front of a tyrant

Because fear is an ancient thing

But weapons also are ancient as much

And chains –

Which are more ancient than fruits

And walking on the ground

Which is so easy

But watching a man walking on the ground,

Is watching an ancient scene –

Walking on the ground is so easy

Even then

The memory of walking on the ground is profound.

 

Beside the shining rail lines,

They are not only just old canvas shoes,

They have become

Hazy and dangerous paths

Which even the detectives cannot cross

But when the stars scatter

And the branches of evening fill inside those old shoes

Then on the same murky and dangerous paths

Come, the distant wheels of dreams, spinning violently,

Scattering light and roots in the sleep of man,

Gather, like gathering green,

The useless things thrown almost everywhere around.

 

Animals came from nature. And days too.

But shoes didn’t come from nature.

Shoes were made by men –

Just like gardens which were made by men

And likewise for accompaniment

Man made great things –

And among those great things

Shoes are closest to man –

Closer than ships –

Much closer than roads, railways, and stairs –

Continually desiring entry

Like attempts and tunes.

 

These old canvas shoes have become so old,

Somebody can say

Where these shoes are – time is not –

These shoes dangle outside time

Even death will not like to wear them

But poets wear them

And cross centuries.

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Translated by Roma Prakash and Bidyut Pal