The Bookseller’s Twilight
…Then he left the main road and stepped into a narrow alley—
kept walking, slowly, aimlessly.
After a while, from a roadside tea stall,
a cup of tea in a plastic cup, a few biscuits—
they slipped drowsily into his stomach.
Today’s sales—about fifty taka…
Once there was brisk demand for Lakshmi Panchali;
not anymore.
Now it’s quiz books, shortcut English grammar guides,
and those magic-like “easy math” books
that keep the business barely propped up.
Ah, those were the days—
Dalimkumar, Kiranmala, Lal Kamal, Buddhu Bhutum…
the market would be bustling!
At night, after returning home and falling asleep,
they would all come alive before his eyes—
his trade then was a dream,
his addiction, sleep itself.
Now—
the temple bells ring in the fading afternoon;
this is the time again.
Beside the damp slum’s shanties,
amidst rising smoke and sharp, stinging smells,
the addicts will soon gather once more…
