My son was delirious: his eyes were burning
like red krishnachura. i took his small hands
and held them gently; when I touched his forehead
it was burning with fever. He was panting softly
and his head ached furiously. His small dry lips
were moving gently like a swallow’s breast. Outside
the storm raged, beating with fury against the windows.
I shivered and wondered if I should call the doctor again.

Red krishnachuras looked into my eyes. Are you suffering
my child? I whispered: try to sleep. I touched his brow.
There was no sound. Only a cat yawned in a distant corner
of the room. Sleepless, I wondered if dawn would ever
return, I wondered if I could share his suffering.
And then I realised that when it comes to pain
we are all lonely.

krishnachura: red flowers

Pain by Shamsur Rahman

An exhibition of photographs of Shamsur Rahman by M A Taher is taking place at the Bengal Shilpalaya until Jan 22nd. It will be my first port of call.