The sky is freely
tied with the earth,
a bondage, or a
bonding;
wherever they are,
they're seen
as a whole,
forever together.
Throughout their
journey,
they have a sense
inter-dependence,
and their own identity.
A space where eco-socio-political views are shared with love, compassion. Peace, above everything else.
The sky is freely
tied with the earth,
a bondage, or a
bonding;
wherever they are,
they're seen
as a whole,
forever together.
Throughout their
journey,
they have a sense
inter-dependence,
and their own identity.
my sense organs,
a disoriented cattle,
grazing; a clumsy
shepherd with a broken
flute, I watch helplessly
...
yoga means to connect
with who I am,
it also disconnects
me from nature
...
the sun -
clouds cover,
slowly they go
away, I discover
the absence of
relationship between
the sun and the clouds,
the moon -
playing with the fish
in a dancing pond;
there is no link between
the moon, the pond,
the fish, and the breeze,
actions lie in the images,
day and night
why was the world created,
aimless, weak logic,
but it was created, like
a miserable magic
...
we know killing is bad,
revolvers, pistols, guns
in the hands of children
of all ages; wealth created
by manufacturing such
toys, playful instruments,
films that market killing,
deceit, treachery, violence
gain on visibility
...
good and bad,
my mom must have
taught me to gang-rape
a woman, the skill
to kill, and steal,
she must have taught me
to open fire here and there
...
flocks of sheep,
coward, flocking together,
gaining strength, creating
a ruckus in the world
...
the world, the only abode
we want to destroy through
thoughts, words, and actions
...
the rich becoming richer
the poor poorer,
explanations, written down,
remedies, written off
the seed and the fruit
bad, or good
playing the ping-pong ball
game, perfect for all
pen,
an eye of the storm,
in the middle of chaos,
the smell of the ink,
the touch of the skin,
the look,
shades of identities
in the noisy crises
struggling to
write a horrid,
a borrowed story,
a silent traveller
bewildered in the crowd
of unspoken words
the device finally triumphs
to crack the squall
with a sound of a crack
anger,
the salt of life,
lust,
the sugar of life,
weapons,
the spice of life,
i sacrifice to the sea,
i destroy the part and
parcel of food I love to eat,
I acquire a new taste,
destroy the beliefs
of the culinary art;
those waves thrashing,
blurring, burning the pure meat
of the vegetables,
swallowing the depth,
clouds gobbling the expanse,
killing the appetite of
a wise gourmet limiting the
discolored lid,
with the libation,
the palate has changed
the look, the smell, and
the oomph of the course
a new threshold,
a new discourse
তোমার পথে, তোমার সাথে
আছে আমি রসে, বশে
সবার মধ্যে মিলে মিশে,
তর্ক থেকে থাকি অনেক দূর,
সত্য কথা কটু হলে
বলি না যে কভু ভুলে
কথা, চিন্তা, কর্ম, সুমধুর
নতুন আমার এ অভ্যেসে
আছি নেচে, গেয়ে, হেসে,
দিবারাত্রি উচ্ছাসে তাই
মনটা সদাই আনন্দে ভরপুর।
এ পথ থেকে যেন আমি
সরে না যাই কভু
এ প্রার্থনাই তোমার কাছে
করছি মহাপ্রভু।
pandemic
a large mass of innocent
people need oxygen;
whose mess, whose sin,
whose punishment
echoes, 'I can't breathe'
তোমার দেওয়া ব্যথা
আমি সাদরে গ্রহণ করেছি।
রক্তাক্ত হৃদয়ের আর্তনাদ
আমিই শুনেছি কেবল,
বাইরে আসতে দিইনি।
তোমার এই দানে আমার
স্বপ্নভঙ্গ হয়েছে ঠিকই,
তবে আমার আজ চমকে
জেগে ওঠার চমৎকার,
বন্ধ চোখ খুলে যাওয়া,
আমার এই অন্ধ না হবার
উপলব্ধি, সেও তো হলো
তোমারই জন্যে।
এই বা কম কি বন্ধু,
এই বা কম কি।
আশ্চর্য এই যে, যদি তুমিও
কখন তোমার কবিতা
লেখ, হয়তো একই বেদনার
কলি ফুটবে তোমারও প্রাঙ্গণে
হয়তো তুমিও বলবে,
এই বা কম কি বন্ধু,
এই বা কম কি।
You may bombard
me with words, still
I will write my verse.
Saplings will surface
from the frame of
the butchered earth.
Trees will throw up
fruits and flowers,
no matter what.
Good or bad,
wrong or right,
I cannot not write,
the chef-d'oeuvre is still
waiting inside,
destined, or condemned,
accursed or
blessed, guess I have
no clue,
thoughts will sprout
through the humblest
of words,
false or true.