Featured Post

The journey of a poet

Image credit: Google images I understand who I am through the records of my life I land in sound, silence some hear...

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The story of a bird

I am a free bird, a true bird
Not an angry bird
Hiding my age,
Was born a year before
In broad daylight
My certificate lied in black and white.

I am a free bird, a true bird
Not a worried bird
Hiding notes in the banks,
Firing the hires here and there,
To become rich and important
On fast track, out of nowhere,
Lying to the diseased on the ill effects
Of pills I was designated to push,
Like a thief behind a bush.
I couldn’t be deadlier,
Mixing killers, in foods sold to mothers
Of new-borns
Or for some hormones secreted in porn...
I was a moron
Pecking on fruits worse than grass
Concealing facts, figures
To clients, to make my Donald duck fatter
A pack of rubbish to buy and sell
My wings were wired to a machine I could tell
I was living in a cage called helpless hell
My wings and feet, heavy with lie
I was unable to fly.

Until I broke my cell
With my beak, my wings, my claws
The shell cracked, I tried to fly, fell
Flat on the ground, hurt my jaws
My innate nature came back running to me
Light and feathery I glided with glee
I could hear me whistle and sing
From the mountains to the meadows
Flaunted my winsome wings
Sail in the blues, with my own little being.

Tough will be this honest wide world
I thought,
So what
I choose to be out of the poor rich herd
I know now I am not an angry bird
Not a worried bird
I am a bird of word
I am a free bird, a true bird.


After years of trials and betrayals
The key issue is still burning
Food, shelter, clothing – a scarcity
Poor poorer, rich richer, an adamant reality
Despite benevolent gestures

Sweet-faced, intelligent stalwarts
Kind-faced liars and rascals
Double-faced backstabbers
With spoilt, useless theories
In their own little box
Writing books
On growth and development
Getting accolades, making fortunes
But under the same firmament
The basic necessities
Cleverly hidden with cowardly atrocities

Science and technology grows
Gadgets and weapons galore
People are pushed to buy
Remain drowned in heinous products called loans
Their richness the budget knows is a lie
For they’ll soon cry in moans
They succumb to the craving for the poisonous pie
For this, under the behest of laureates and economists
Who look upon this as an occasion to celebrate and feast
Killing people in credits
Are they any better than terrorists

No machine with artificial intelligence
Have decided yet to alter with sense
The primitive designed fact
Going natural, viral, worse and sadder
With expertise and tact
Poor becoming poorer, rich richer.

Saturday, March 18, 2017

The story of another red riding hood

Wolves, in search of sheep
To eat their flesh and keep
The skin
As their clothing
To mingle with the cattle
From Tokyo to Seattle
Conceited lot claiming to be saintly
So merrily, so freely.
Dressed as sheep
Fearfully beg for respect and worship
Their dirty nasty Alpha Muscle
Careful and safe, cradles
Under the mask of stewardship
So merrily, so freely.
The stage trembles
The curtain raises
Their mask falls
Sheep! They don’t anymore resemble.

Jumps out of their skin
The surprised cattle
Sees what is
True and what is false
Beyond ease.

All this while
Hiding and honing their style
The wolves were policing them
From Mecca to Jerusalem
Their own skin
The culprits used, to fake as kin
Lying loose on the ground, now dead for good,
Vegetarian predators naked, once and for all
Off their skinny, misfit wherewithal
Lose the battle.
The sheep just wrote anew
The story of another red riding hood.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


Darkness who says is rude,
It offers a warm, a kind solitude.
Your body starts to feather and glow,
Organs in light air dance, mellow.
Gleam of the stars with eyes ajar,
Passes and stays without a bar.
Your mind slowly stops and thinks,
It touches the being when blackness blinks.

Monday, March 6, 2017

মাপ করো

জনসমুদ্রের মধ্যে আমরা ফেনার মতো
আঁছড়ে পড়ি
নীল দিগন্তবিস্তৃত জলে আমাদের কোনো স্থান নেই
যুগে তাই আমরা শুনে আসি তোমাদের
করুন হুঙ্কার, মাপ করো
আমরা চিরকাল তোমাদের করুনার পাত্রই রয়ে গেলাম
কিন্তু এই ফেনা দিয়েই তো তোমরা গা ভাষাও
রুজি রোজগার, নূন লবন
বেঁচে থাকার স্বাদ তো আমরাই যোগাই
আমাদের বাইরেই রেখেছো  যুগ যুগ ধরে
যেন তোমরা থমকে দাঁড়িয়েছ
বুঝি আমরা তোমাদের
সাদা নোনতা বেড়াজালে ঘেরাও করেছি
কি আশ্চর্য,
তোমাদের এক বাণী, মাপ করো

যা আছি
আমরাও তোমরা হতে পারতাম
কিন্তূ তাতে তোমাদের তৃপ্তি-খুদা বুঝি মিটতো না
আজ আমরা আমাদের পেটের খিদে গায়ের জালা বালুরাশির মধ্যে
জলাঞ্জলি দিয়ে তোমাদের বলছি,
আর তোমাদের ডাঙা আমরা হবো না, মাপ করো

Monday, February 6, 2017


It’s heat.
Water standing with its fired up feat,
It’s far from warm
Harmless waves eager to charm.

Sky looks empty
Without clouds
For nothing, woos the water bodies
Loud thunder.

Sudden hollowness
Of the sky and the earth
Freezes the wind, silence
Breaks in the heart.

A writer was trying to write;
That which is already written
Painter trying to paint,
The painted.

In the middle of black and white
Of the vast blues,
The stealing of clouds and waters
Appears and withers, continues.

Friday, February 3, 2017

Follow by Email