Feeling is the universe

There's no painting
that takes me there,
texts fired me long
ago, I get attached to the
strings for nothing,
all paraphernalia fail,
I’m inevitably thwarted
to experience, witness 
the prescribed romance,
angst of time and space.

The brush, the pen, 
the rhyme, the rhythm
morass me in an abyss
of unreal compositions,
useless jewels.

I close my eyes,
with newfangled wings 
I feel the early clouds
in the sky, the news
of sunrise through my
goosebumps, I approach
the beach, the waves caress
my feet.

I wonder how I was
in the midst of the magic,
which mechanical miracle
took me to the warmth,
the froth, even the salt in 
the waves my bewildered
tongue could sense.

I open my eyes.
The dichotomy has
me confused.

In gratitude, I wake up
and crawl my way up
from the gorge, look at
the canvas, the words,
the notes in wonder,
are these then the
technical instruments
in prose and verse,
that opened the treasure 
of my priceless universe.  

Worth, worthless

Meanings, reasons, beliefs
sharpening the intellect,
sullying the intelligence,
caged albums,
memories I need to sit upon
I carry on my head,
a herculean burden;
there's no meaning in nature
other than what it simply is;
with the three humanly designed 
impediments, boons, and banes,
clashes are inevitable.
Don't blame the child
shooting on the computer
waiting, wanting, willing,
yearning to shoot for real.

You know scores of things
more than I do, but now
I have a machine that knows
thousand times more than you;
so, now what is your value,
it’s perhaps nothing
other than the worth
of a human being.

The outcast

The longing to belong,
a hammer the hurts
the chords of a song;
slavery of the tie-ups,
a group, a tribe, a race,
a class, or a community,
blocks the possibility,
flow of humanity
without grace.

To sing along in wonder,
with the ups and downs
of the stars is perhaps
the liberating dignity,
the outcast key.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,
Merry Christmas
Santa will relieve us
From the dangerous virus
Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,
Merry Christmas
Stay at home, enjoy the festival
On-line with friends and families,
With cakes, pastries, and the Christmas Tree,
We are going through difficult times,
Have faith, don't watch the news all the time,
Don't be scared, don't be serious
Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!

 

কৃষ্ণের মতে কৃষ্ণের মত

কৃষ্ণের মতে চল, কৃষ্ণের কথা বল
কৃষ্ণের মত কাঁদ, কৃষ্ণের মত নাচ
কৃষ্ণের মত ভাব, কৃষ্ণের ভাবে ভাস
কৃষ্ণের হাসি হাস, কৃষ্ণকে ভালবেসে 

তারই মত ভালবাস।

যদি বল
হরে কৃষ্ণ হরে কৃষ্ণ
কৃষ্ণ কৃষ্ণ হরে হরে,
হরে রাম হরে রাম
রাম রাম হরে হরে,
তবে যত দুঃখ যত কষ্ট
সবই যাবে দূরে সরে,

আনন্দে মন উঠবে ভরে।

আবার জাদু কেমন আছে দেখো
কৃষ্ণ রামের মন্তরে 

যদি বল হ রে কৃষ্ণ হ রে রাম 

একটু খানি ছেড়ে ছেড়ে
তবে যা চাও তা হবেই হবে  

সকল কাজই তোমার ভবে 

দেখ কেমন সফল হবে
বাহিরে আর অন্তরে।

তাই বল
হরি বোল হরি বোল 

আস্তে আস্তে জোরে জোরে 

এই নামেরই বলে সবাই

শুদ্ধ হব হেসে খেলে,
তাই সবাই বল  তালি দিয়ে

হরি বোল হরি বোল
    হরি বোল হরি বোল।   

Lost voices

Still. You remain still.
Yet, speak a thousand words.
Who is the silent speaker inside
of me?
You see, you hear, you judge, you
snigger; a mirror broken into pieces,
they take several roles, times, spaces.
Demons that were asleep suddenly
wake up in the middle of a doublespeak
raillery. Their tongues reaching
up to the sky talking of the past,
only of the past, pulling off  
a nauseating course of memories.
I crawl toward the garden, but my hands
are stampede with brown leaves, full
of words, forlorn lovers.

Is this the world, a stillborn world
that I nursed within, with resilience,
faith, and affection? Just when death
was born in front of me, I fathomed that
it was a fake offspring that was giving
me the genuine pain of a new-born.
You pick up those slices of glass, pelt a
thousand questions at me. They sound
gibberish.

The world is massacred with words
whose sweethearts, actions, are lying
dead; a mound of cadaverous lives
moving inside the womb feigning birth,
waiting to come out as lost paramours;
only their voices masquerade, a downpour
of mimicries.

Shipping the waste

The West is dumping its
waste on the rest of the
world.
The unsinkable is sailing
close to the wind while
on the other sides, the poor
cousins are taken for a ride,
their burden of garbage and
debris, warming up, like an
iceberg.

Introduction

I thought I could see with
my eyes, hear with my ears,
but they had been sold much
before I was born.

When I began to enjoy being
with my best friend, my solitude,
I could sense intrusions in
my time and space.

I realized who I am, who I am not
in my or in someone else’s company
had been seen, heard, written, and read,
I was someone breathing fresh air,
but introduced as the other, long dead.

Mystery

Light that I see outside

Drags me toward obfuscation, 

Delving into darkness inside

I feel the warmth of illumination. 

I have a sense of despair with

The successes and failures

I experience outside, 

But with the ones I invoke inside

I am overwhelmed, gratified. 

The realities I seize outside

Drown me to an abyss of falsehood, 

But the ones I witness inside

Deliver me to the garden of truth. 

With more of possession I acquire

Outside, I become poorer, sadder, 

The endless wealth I discover

Inside makes me richer, happier. 

I may win or lose the wars I engage outside, 

But I inevitably become a victim, 

I emerge as a winner and take pride

When I conquer myself from within. 

Where are the words

Parashar was an electrician. He was also a writer, a writer who was not much read. He considered his writings to be like those flowers that didn’t smell of any particular class. They just bloomed, like the plants that grew without anyone's care in those old buildings, or like those shrubs that never attracted anyone's attention. He knew deep inside that writers are not writers if they are not read, but he didn't seem to care much. He kept on expressing himself on things that concerned him the most.

He seemed to be searching for something, of what he wasn’t sure. Sometimes he thought he was looking for a jaw-dropping miracle that’d transform the way people thought, for instance, if a person could fly, or bring a country of the Sahara Desert, or could make the vast lands in Australia habitable, or if someone could walk on the sky, and so on. 

At other times he thought he was looking for a drama, like a person who was being crucified by a group of powerful people but was speaking of love and affection; with eyes on heaven, he was seeking forgiveness on behalf of those very people who were killing him in public. 

He thought he was also looking for some magic; magic that would transform paper currency into fruits and flowers, or feed the starving stomachs, or could transform the most disastrous of weapons into garlands. 

He was looking for these three things; miracle, drama, and magic, but all of these through his words.

Where are the words

Write
Switch on love
Switch off hate

Write
Switch off war
Switch on peace

Write
Switch on forgive
Switch off rage

Write
Switch off pollution
Switch on purity

Write
Switch on light
Switch off darkness

This work, especially the form of the poems, is partly influenced by an excellent poet, Dr. Rita De's short verse in Bengali:

সুইচ অন ঘর আলোময়
সুইচ অফ ঘর রামময় 

which in English, roughly translates into:

Switch on, the room is illuminated
Switch off, the room rims with Rama

পরিযায়ী পাখি

ভিটে ছাড়া পরিযায়ী পাখি

একসাথে উড়ে চলেছে,

অজানা অচেনা ঠিকানায়,

কোনখানে থামবে যাত্রা

কখন কোন রাত্রির আশায়,

অন্তহীন নীল আকাশের

তলায়, কোন এক বৃক্ষের

ডালে, তারাও বাঁধবে সংসার,

ক্লান্ত ডানাগুলি পাবে বিশ্রাম 

ক্ষনিকের তরে পরিবার, আশ্রয়।

a panacea

Rich are becoming richer,
poor poorer,
we can go to the moon,
but cannot move an inch
away from the designed pattern
malnutrition, starvation, poverty
running the show of affluence,
benevolence, grants, loans;
how much can
ignorance ignore;
touch wood, we have these
two lovely little resilient
words: move, on
a panacea   

lost labor

Wasteful sciences
occupied in understanding
the outer space, yet unable
to stop the worldly challenges
draining the hard labor of
the starving farmers

the distraction

When you can't prevent
a storm with useless
sciences and technologies
assign it a sexy name
and wait for it to arrive
again and again,
raise a question on 
why a female's name,
it'll be considered as
a distraction, a drawing-room
conversation, a storm
in the cup

a new approach

Stop all wars
destroy all weapons
channel the soldiers
to fight force majeure;
these are as important
as wearing helmets
and masks

the decaying village

wars,
majestic, royal 
white elephants
of the world
weapons,
symbols of failure
displayed with success
to induce fear
soldiers,
fresh flesh in the
slaughterhouse
guilt buried
in honored coffins,
muffins to the
bereaved families

Worldkrupt

bankrupt world...
of values, worth
to safeguard 
the interest
of the country
the principle
of the world
is lost

Fill in the blank

I belong to my country,
I love my country,
...
There's no problem
With that, however
...

Keep doing it

O, my talkative mind!
I know you cannot shut up,
be silent; so keep saying,
I love, I love, I love, I love,
I love, I love, I love, I love;
that's all you need to do
to see the magic, to experience
the miracle; you'll stop feeling
the void of worthlessness,
no longer will you be
unconscious, or ashamed of
the gap between who you
are, and who you aren't, yet
pretend to be proud, like a hypocrite,
carrying a sense of guilt;
you are insane materially,
be insane immaterially;
kindness, complete fulfillment,
purity will be the air you'll
breathe. Just say, I love, I love,
I love, I love, I love, I love,
it works. Keep doing it.

This may not be the only way,
but keep your thoughts pure
from the inside, in whichever form
you please, pray or talk to
yourself with words full of peace,
pure power, infinite bliss.
Instead of saying, I hate, 
say, I love, I love, I love, I love,
it works. Keep doing it.

You needn't chant any mantra,
nonbelievers may not worship
anyone, or anything, just check
your thoughts that rot inside
you on a daily basis, clean 
the garbage from your mind,
convert it into a garden, by
planting seeds that are replete
with your and the world's
well-being, keep on talking,
I love, I love, I love, I love, I love,
Change the world you're living in,
it works. Keep doing it.  

The supreme species

farmers, who feed the human
civilization, are starving to death,
women, 'used' to breed the supreme
species are getting violated;

rich becoming richer,
poor poorer, as an aftermath
of the vulgar growth and
development, global warming,
in the heat of hatred and wrath; 

wars have advanced,
they have become viral, 
digital, cyber, nuclear;

on the other hand, volumes
are written with chosen words,
selective histories, measured 
Ps and Qs to highlight generosity,
magnanimity, and benevolence,
to fill the lifeless shelves, grease
pockets of lofty ideas with the milk
of human kindness that never comes
to play on the needy fields;

we are taught by design, to be positive,
with heaps of hopes on transformation,
on the resurrection, to be proud as the
supreme species born with consciousness, 
the sole differentiator from the rest
of the nature-abiding creatures;

in this day and age, basking in self-glory,
blinded by towers of achievement, 
screeching accolades, appreciations
nothing goes inside, no guilt, 
no shame, no remorse, no atonement. 

No one

I was traveling, in the
middle of this global pandemic,
without a mask, without washing
my hands. Audacity? Defiance?
S’enfoutisme? Maybe, but I wasn’t
afraid of the virus anymore.

I saw a beautiful world,
men, women, children with
their conditions; everyone suffered,
some with wealth and health,
some without, but I could clearly figure
a sense of pain in them; it was as if they
were carrying an imperceptible germ
within them; to be able to do that they
were expecting someone to come and
deliver them, but who? A leader,
a guru, a god, a lover, a friend, who?
Rest assured, no one came.

When I closed the book, I thought
I could be all those the characters were
looking for, I could also be any one of
the players! The story made me wonder
if no one was also someone.

I took out my mask and went out to buy
some groceries, I carried a sanitizer with me,
very soon, as it were, I will be out on a
different journey with heaps of hopes
that I could change my world that can
do without a purifier and a mask on the
stage.

Paradise

Clouds in the sky,
thoughts,
waves on the sea,
repeated froths,
I behold the liquid 
nothings as huge
insurmountable rocks,
listen to their hollow
sounds and find me in the
blues, blue horrors
overpower me;
I look for my paradise
above, the seas lose on 
the ground, they’re beyond
my sense, lying hidden
inside my golden garden
waiting to surface, but
overcast with foams of lies.

Our priceless abode

   

snows are melting,

the temperature of our 

solitary nest increasing

beyond limit,

join hands and act 

to reduce carbon emissions 

in the balconies, windows, 

doorways, porticos

attics, terrace of our 

unique home;

for some time, scrap the 

borders that you have 

scratched over it,

the indigenous people 

are suffering the most 

for our expensive habit,

look beyond the codes

of selfish boundaries,

unite in action, 

not in mere words 

to save the earth, 

our priceless abode

Rose is not a word

 

The word rose doesn’t

emulate any colour, no matter
how perfectly read,
it doesn’t carry any sense 
of smell either, however
flawlessly the speaker accents.

Poetry cannot die

I will prove to the world,
with my indomitable words,
poems can kill all wars,
all anger, jealousies, hatred;
here’s to my lines, read 
or unread, but they lie in 
black and white.
I will keep playing my tune,
until all wars end, to you
I’ll sing, with a heart 
in my head, ‘poetry 
cannot die, it is 
never ever dead.’

In the circus of things

I had tied all of you in a rope,
until you ate, dressed and spoke,
wrote, and even thought like me, beyond 
any scope; with your entity, civilization,
language, attire, and food, lost in our hands
of power, prowess, intolerance, to ape me, 
became your condemned destiny.

Now, with all of you locked up in my cage,
I speak of justice, liberty, disarmament,
I score you down for distorting my language,
I mark you high for your neutralized accent.

The odd one

In the garden of tulips
a lotus was born; the gardener
smiled, but those in power,
surprised; they ordered to pluck 
the intruder, it was thus thrown
outside the border; the earth, like
the garden of flowers nourished 
the outcast with light, water, and air.

At work

Write, till your eyes turn in,
read, till you look within; you
will soon construct a different world,
where the azure paradise will fall
in love with your golden garden.

In the midst of miracles

The sun and the moon,
the earth and the sky,
the water and the air,
heal my world from
this warring lie.

I know of no other
gods and goddesses,
no kings or queens,
no princes or princesses,
I worship you, your highness,
cure my world, tired with
hatred, anger, lovelessness.

The meadows and the gardens,
the seas and the oceans,
the flowers and the fruits,
the brooks and the rivers,
the rocks and the mountains,
help my world to see,
your bounty and treasures,
enable them to hear the
sounds of your beats,
empower them to taste
the benevolence of your juice,
to you alone, I sink on my
knees, bless my world
deliver it from the disease of wars.

The kind wind and the breeze
so mercifully do you grease
all my sentient beings
so they love, live, and play,
every night and day,
I know you’ll never ever leave
us to die; in you alone, I believe,
teach my world with your pure
touch, how to caress, care, and cure.

I pray to you with all my heart,
my world, you’ll never fall apart,
with all your selfless teachers around
let our feet not lose the ground,
we’re blinded and deafened by
the debacle of disaster and deceit,
help us see and hear your miracles,
let them activate the sleeping brain,
let them rejuvenate our heartbeat.

In medias res

I can dance in the middle of a war
like a cattle in the slaughterhouse,
I can sing in the middle of greedy
hunger for power, like a severed
rooster; I can die in the middle of
pious talks on global peace and
harmony, I can drown myself in
guilt and shame in the middle of
theoretical cacophony;
I can be mesmerized at the autocratic
insistence on growth and development,
when millions starve under the indifferent
firmament; I can chant spiritual mantras
in the middle of inequality and caprice,
like a gang-raped teenager, seeking justice,
I can dance in between the designed gap
of word and action, and listen to volumes of
discourse on integrity, on one hand, I become
rich, and on the other, I breed poverty.

Freedom

When you go to 
a wise person,
seek love, do not 
seek wisdom,
an invaluable lesson
that can deliver
absolute freedom.

Intelligence

In the human world,
everything that has no 
sense makes sense;
intelligence is blinded 
by the visible, deafened 
by the audible, while the 
one that’s holding it
is cosmic intelligence.

Human beings are, in
essence peaceful in nature,
but they are also insecure;
intelligence is the way out,
but it is also the trap,
the key is to unlock the gap.

A purposeless visit

I went to the neighborhood
where I grew up, just to
see if the condition of the
house where I lived, the field
where I played with friends,
the forbidden place beside
the ganges where I smoked
my first cigarette.

Everything about the locality
had changed, I felt like a stranger
there, I was kind of expecting a
familiar face, I found none.
I was also worried about the
small talks of the big people,
what to say if I met anyone,
why was I there, what would
be the credible purpose! 

But I walked past many times,
felt like running but my knees
didn't permit; the open field,
transformed into a multi-storied
choked me completely, I was
wiping my tears, thought would
have come with a makeup,
but no one could recognize
the weeping child wiping the
moist eyes in front of a high rise.

I didn't realize that my age
was my natural disguise. 

Some small poems

Waves...
caressing the beach
album of memories

Sky...
holding the clouds
moist eyes

Autumn...
falling leaves
heaps of stories

Morning sun
on my plate
beside slices of bread

Crickets, fireflies
jungle speaks
bedtime stories

Blue sky
twinkling stars
an owl eyes a frog

Alas!

In a world full of wonders,
twinkling stars, singing birds, 
wandering rivers, bountiful
seas, oceans, mysterious
forests, majestic mountains,
in the midst of all the 
mesmerizing, nature-abiding
sentient beings, only the
supreme of all is accursed. 

Alas! Alas! Alas! 

If any spell could deliver
me from this shame and guilt, 
I'd turn into a rat or a bat, 
an ant or an elephant, or into
any other being beneath the 
patient, priceless, paradise, 
I'd live merrily here before 
I fell prey to hunger or greed
or simply died on the earth
where I could breathe and breed. 

Ashamed to death

I'm ashamed to be born
as a human being, 
doubly ashamed to be born
as a man, I wouldn't choose
to end my life, 
but I'm waiting to die. 

A welcome decision

The day is not far away

happiness is here to stay! 

Leaders decided to stop fighting, 

to the world they'd do justice;

as protectors of all sentient beings, 

they'll no longer die for power

they'll work together to live for peace.

A coping mechanism

Why do I still weep

like a child at the

outcry of wars, I 

should've been used

to it by now. 

I should've known

by now that it's okay

to kill your neighbours

who are, mostly, your

enemies.

I've learned it at every

step of my life;

it's read, heard, tested, 

no matter how high

you fly, like an eagle, 

keep looking for the weak

prey, kill and survive. 

It'd be strange if I thought 

it was a poor example

of an innocent hungry bird

looking for food, to be abused

as an excuse to rage

war, be condemned to it

for ever and for good? 

How did civilization invent 

this mechanical game as

a coping mechanism I wonder, 

it destroys not only the stage

but all the actors in the play

dying for power. To discover

peace, wouldn't it been easier? 

We breed wars perhaps

because abortion is not okay. 

Why then when I see the stillborn

I cannot help crying. I should've

been used to it by now, as a 

coping mechanism. 

মায়ের কবিতা

এই ত সেদিন হলি, 

আমার কোল আলো 

করে, কখন তুই এত্তো 

বড় হয়ে গেলি রে 

মানিক? যে আজ তোর

বিয়ে হচ্ছে! 

ভালো থাকিস, সুখে থাকিস

বাবু আমার। 

তুইও তোর জীবন দিয়ে

আমারই মত অবাক হয়ে

একদিন এই একই কবিতা লিখিস।

ভালো থাকিস সোনা আমার

সুখে শান্তিতে থাকিস। 

Price of anger

I am one of the Kauravas*;
indulged in conceit and caprice,
I died in the field of Kurukshetra*
and was thus absolved of my sins;
I am now a resident of heaven;
but the Pandavas* were, despite fighting 
the holy war, unable to forgive 
us, the Kauravas; this sin was 
the sole cause of their fate, they were
debarred at the gate of heaven; even 
after thirty-six years of ruling Hastinapura*, 
they are seen taking their tour in hell; 
anger will flare up the air for long, 
with many such stories to tell.

 

Note

Kauravas - Kaurava is a Sanskrit term for the descendants of King Kuru (or simply Kurava in Tamil), a legendary king who is the ancestor of many of the characters of the Mahābhārata. Kauravas are a hundred sons and one daughter of the blind king of Hastinapur, Dhritarashtra, and the queen Gandhari. The well-known Kauravas are Duryodhana, Dushasana, Vikarna, and Dussala.

Kurukshetra - According to the Puranas, Kurukshetra is a region named after King Kuru, the ancestor of Kauravas and Pandavas, as depicted in epic Mahabharata. The importance of the place is attributed to the fact that the Kurukshetra War of the Mahabharata is said to have taken place here. According to the epic, The Mahabharata, the sacred ‘Bhagavat Gita’ scripture was first delivered here by Krishna.

Pandavas - The Pandavas refers to the five brothers namely, Yudhishthira, Bhima, Arjuna, Nakula, and Sahadeva. They are the main characters in the epic Mahabharata. They were the sons of Pandu, the king of Hastinapura, and his two wives Kunti and Madri. The five brothers shared a wife, Draupadi.

Hastinapura - In the Mahabharata, Hastinapur is portrayed as the capital of the Kuru Kingdom of the Kauravas. Many incidents in the Mahabharata were set in the city of Hastinapur. According to the Mahabharata, the 100 Kaurava brothers were born in this city to their mother, Queen Gandhari, the wife of King Dhritarashtra. On the bank of the Budhi Ganga, two places near Hastinapur (Draupadi Ghat and Karna Ghat) reference Mahabharata personages. The first reference to Hastinapur in the Puranas presents the city as the capital of Emperor Bharata's kingdom. King Samprati (also referred to as Samrat Samprati), the grandson of the emperor Asoka the Great of the Mauryan Empire, built many temples here during his reign. During British India, Hastinapur was ruled by Raja Nain Singh Nagar, who built many Hindu temples in and around Hastinapura.

The odd one is out

I find myself like a stranger
in the midst of people who 
look, eat, and talk like me; 
they also have two hands, a pair
of eyes and ears, a nose, a tongue,
a pair of flexible knees, a pair of feet;
yet, I cannot think like them,
especially in matters of 
entertainment, some sport, 
and some game.

Horror, terror, war, bloodshed
are a matter of amusement;
with popcorns and cokes,
similar-looking folks are thrilled,
they want to watch them
over and over again;
in some sport, violence brings fame,
players openly hit and hurt their opponents;
they have to bleed, break their bones
in the middle of a captive audience,
like those slaves of the yore, thrown
within the walls to fight against the
hungry lions, the outcome of the huddle
was all so known, either the animal
would live or would breathe the
likes of Spartacus.

What is most sad is that we don’t
understand what is so wrong,
only strangers and weirdos
like me find such display of
wasted strength, rather weak
than strong.

অন্তর্দর্শন

প্রতিনিয়ত যদি অতীতের
চিন্তা করি, কে কি করেছে
বা করেনি, বলেছে বা বলেনি,
কি হয়েছে, বা হয়নি, এই
আবর্জনায় যদি পচে মরি,
অনুক্ষণ, যদি এই কারাগারে 
প্রতিমুহূর্ত হয় বৃথা অতিবাহিত 
তাহলে হে বর্তমান, হে ভগবান
হে ঈশ্বর, হে অনুপম, ওহে পরম 
পবিত্র স্পন্দন, তোমার আরাধনা 
করবো কখন?

জীবনের উষ্ণ আলিঙ্গন কবে
করবো অনুভব, হে সুদর্শন
তোমার আলোর নৃত্যে কবেই
বা হবে উপলব্ধি আমার
একান্ত অন্তর্দর্শন।

Perspective

 

Life! It takes years to live, 

Captured in few leaves. 

Read in a few hours. 

Tree in miniature, 

A fiction is a bonsai, 

Adorning the living space. 

Utmost priority

Without peace, 

without absolute, 

determined, delivered

'warlessness', 

every inch of growth

and development

is meaningless -

an insipid showpiece

of plastic progress;

it takes us miles away

from what we truly merit, 

equanimity, and happiness. 

Times

My world,
without a clock,
no need to keep pace 
with anything at all, 
I wake up when it’s 
still dark, I walk on 
the grass, flower my 
plants, wait for the dew
drops to soften my feet,
my face; oftentimes
I pray, play with my 
breaths; it’s a new life
new lines, full of space.

I love calling-bells
that ring only once,
when the maid comes
to cook;

My evenings start early
with lazy, unhurried,
long promenades by
the beach, I sit with my
tired legs for a brewing
coffee, sometimes with
some smiling faces,
I observe every bit of life
that surrounds me with
love, warmth, and affection;

All the stars in the sky,
flowers, fruits, birds in the
garden, they're ready
and available, like a
comforting tick-tock,
I look upon them as my
companions, soak in their
goings-on;

I think and laugh at all
my ignorance, my mistakes,
my rights and wrongs,
gone with the waves;

I thought my world ran
without any reminder
of time, until I touched
my heart, felt the
faithful beat.

The colour of unity

The colour gray

gets under the skin, 

sits in our minds

as a poor cousin, 

dull and dead;

but its fruition

unites the world

full of life

in black and white.

In-between

Being in the process
is my fallout,
being in the journey
is my purpose.

I see myself in between
the visible and the invisible
I hear myself inside
silence and speech.

I know I am blessed.

Little by little, outcast,
distanced from the flow
of life, I came upon you,
like the shepherd,
I see hurts and holes
in my system, I know I
inflicted all of them with
ignorant concern; I have
to take charge, heal them,
one by one; I cannot judge
anyone, anymore, those
scabs and scars had formed
me, they belong to me, to
them I’d say so long,
and set me rolling free
in a joyful journey.

Maradonah!

 

O, golden kid!
The ball is weeping
on the ground, it will
refuse to glide around; the one
that once danced on the field
with the kisses from your feet.

Where did you go
O, El pibe de Oro,
Countless lovers of foot
fell in love with the game
because you brought
name and fame for the
glorious sport and your country,
but the magician that you were
your spells set the crazy game
beyond all known boundaries.

Every time you played,
time stopped for those
ninety minutes, we will never
forget the splendid 1986.
You won the Golden Ball
by defeating Germany,
but the two goals in the quarter
finals had made history, one
the hand of God and the other
the goal of the century!

For as long as the ball
bounces on the field,
as long as the whistles blow
your spirit will kick start 
to energize us, your name
will continue to shine and glow!

Maradona! You will forever
be engraved in our hearts,
for the limitless fun and pleasure
you brought in the sport as art.

The indescribable

If you could define love
you could also define god,
if they were mere words
they'd be easily conquered.

Within and beyond the senses,
they're both indescribable
in essence;
since the naive intellect
wants to contain them
in words, the mind is
bewildered, misdirected;

To hold them in any
boundaries, in time and space,
is to belittle their beauties,
deny to behold them
by feeling their grace.

Like the air we breathe,
neither see nor read,
to experience their lightness
one has to volunteer to wander
in the wonderment
of light and darkness. 

গোপন কথা

কত কথা কতকাল ধরে,
গোপনে লুকনো আছে
রাতের আঁধারে,
তারাগুলো নেমে এসে
জোনাকির বেশে, লুকলো
নিশার ফাঁকে এধারে ওধারে,
কি কথা আছে যে ঢাকা
জানে না কিছুই তারা
নাজেহাল হল সবে
কালোর গভীরে। 

টিপ টিপ করে ওরা
খুঁজে খুঁজে হলো সারা
ঘন রাত ধীরে ধীরে
ভোর হয়ে আসে,
হঠাৎ দেখিতে পেলো
কথাগুলি ডালে ডালে
দুলে দুলে থোকা থোকা
ফুল হয়ে ফুটে আছে
চারিদিক ভ'রে।  

তারাগুলি হাসিমুখে দিল
পাড়ি আকাশেতে
কথাগুলি চুপিসারে
চাঁপা, জবা হয়ে ফুটে
রইলো বাগানে। 

মৌমাছি গুলি সব
গুনগুন করে এসে
অজানা কথায় সুর
ঢেলে দিল ভালোবেসে
কথাগুলি ব্যথা ভুলে
সুরে তালে মিলে মিশে
নতুন জীবন পেলো
সুমধুর গানে। 

La fleur-fusil

Je viens d'avoir un fusil

Par hasard, 

Mais c'était inutile

Pour la guerre, 

C'était fait des fleurs. 

À la fois dommage et dérisoire

Car le produit et le matériel

Sont tout-à-fait contradictoires. 

Un peu comme la terre et le ciel

Avec la tendresse de leurs mains

font naître la génie des êtres humains. 

The journey

From all the avalanche
of failures of your 
performance, haven’t you 
still taken the cue 
that it’s time to begin
to chat with yourself
in your green room.

Failings have come unto
you as a guiding clue,
to take that long-awaited
journey, liberate you from
the several selves that 
needed to be shelved long
ago; say times for now,
when you’d recognize
masks as your disguise,
re-enter the stage.

Whether or not

Whether or not you pluck me,
I know I am a flower,
I am bound to leave my trace;
Whether or not you pick on me,
I know I am a human being,
I will found my space.

l'eau de la vie

les larmes se mettent à se parler,
depuis l'horizon, les feuilles, sous 
l'image d’un orage se sont éclatées,
portant des histoires des injustices,
des tortures, des triches, des malices,
et des inexplicables plaisirs grisants, 
tout autour, elles volent sur la terre; 
comme les armes de ces gouttes d’eau, 
elles hurlent partout, prêtes à une guerre 
pour changer leur destin... elles ne 
veulent plus se naître dans le monde; 
la planète confondue, comme un enfant 
tout seul, venant de mettre son modeste 
pas sur l'astre, se demande pourtant, 
d’où peut-elle trouver la force de vivre;

The wanderer

I was traveling through
a dark nothing, the sky
fainted in the space,
the sun I saw was green with
anger, the confused moon,
with blue horror, they thought
their lights would breed life,
but overlooking the debris
of deaths, the stars felt
their function was rendered
useless, like poor cousins,
they hung in shame.

In the midst of enormous rubble
and scree, I glanced upon
a smiling child that ran into
a sapling; the sky seemed to
have regained consciousness,
the stars also got back their
colours, but I wondered
on the purpose.  

Le milieu si précieux

Où que l’on porte son regard
il y a des choses merveilleuses à voir.

On peut tout apprécier
peut-être ici l'on peut tous aimer.

Dans les montagnes, dans l'eau
ou dans l'immense ciel,
la vie est à l’aise, follement réelle.

Tous les beaux animaux bougent,
et courent librement, les poissons
coulent, volent également les oiseaux.

Ils sont tous, au fond, des bijoux d'un
espace qui est en voie de se détruire ;
n'oublions pas que c’est notre origine
sans laquelle nous allons périr.

L’endroit magnifique et formidable, pleine
d'espèces rares qui vont bientôt disparaître,
il faut que ce soit notre raison d’être
de protéger tous ensemble, le milieu si précieux
des millions des êtres vivants, avec d'autant
de passions et d’intérêts, car c'est la racine
de notre existence, ce sont des forêts.

Mind-blowing

My mind wants to read others, 

doesn't want to be read, 

it thinks in thin air,

stays for a split second, 

then escapes like a truant, 

despite being caught red-handed. 

If only

If only the words, written
on the leaves
could cure the wounds
of the world,
I'd instantly know
that my silence was heard.

If only the words, lying
on the pages
could purify the beings,
I’d feel light and free
from the age-old cages.

If only the letters
would freshen up the air,
the land, and the water
I'd feel the soil had
responded to my prayers.

If only the words whistling
in the phrases
could bring back peace
in all the countries,
if they could have the spell
to erase every menace
from the face of the earth,
if words could solemnize the space
from the self-defeating habits,
destroy poverty and mediocrity
of the body, mind, and spirit
I'd definitely have the feeling
that the world, for good
is on its way to healing.

Else the most earnest of words
lose their very purpose,
they turn into beautiful quotes,
shallow, they emptily float
they’re hallowed, made famous;
if they were only tried,
they’d not be superfluous.

The purest lent

When you give up

your favourite things

for lent, try and sacrifice

your words during 

the period, apart from

chanting prayers, be silent. 

পরিবার

যখন কাউকে যায়না ভালবাসা

তখনই তাকে ভালবাসতে হয়, 

এ যে স্বয়ং ভগবানের ভাষা

যেন এ বাণী এমনি এমনি নয়। 

মা, বাবারা শীর্ণকায় যখন

সেবার বেশী প্রয়োজন তো হয়, 

দূরে ঠেলে দিলে তাদের তখন

পাপের বোঝা বাড়ে যে নিশ্চয়। 

ছেলে মেয়েরা যখন শোনেনা কথা

বিপথগামী যখন তারা হয়, 

তখনই তাদের গোপন দুঃখ ব্যথা

বুকে টেনে শুনবার সময়। 

যদি একটু থেমে গিয়ে ভাব

তোমরা সবাই এ কথারই সার, 

নতুন যুগের আবির্ভাবে পাব

শান্তিপূর্ণ বিশ্ব পরিবার। 

My overloaded boat

My boat is overloaded
with possessions, for them, 
I had denied seats to 
human beings; heavy, it 
cannot keep afloat, neither 
can it sail anymore; I was
taken aback to see water
piercing through a little crack.

I wish I had a hand, that
could take me to the shore.
Chattels, just mere weights,
I am throwing the wealth,
one by one, but all in vain, 
for it's far too late.

I cannot heal the hole,
my wound, I realized that
the things don't have the means,
the wherewithal,
to carry me to the bank.

Crying out for help,
my crown sank in shame.

কবে তুমি

যা কিছু সুন্দর, তারই মাঝে
আমি আছি জেনো,
পাখির সকাল, সাঁঝের গান
ফুলে ফলে ভরা বাগান
অসীম সম্পদে তৃপ্ত ঘন জঙ্গল
মহাসাগরের গভীর ঢলঢলে জল
এরই মধ্যে আমি আছি অনন্ত কাল ধরে,
তোমার অপেক্ষায়, কবে তুমি সকল
গ্লানি, দ্বেষ, অতীতের নির্বোধ
ক্রোধ ভুলে আসবে আমার
মাতৃসম কোলে, কবে তোমার
অচেতনতার হবে অন্ত, আমি তারই
আশায় দিন গুনছি দিবারাত্র। 

আমি পিতা হয়ে সূর্যের মত
দিচ্ছি তোমায় জ্ঞানের প্রকাশ
অহরহ, অনর্গল, অনবরত
জ্যোৎস্নার আলোয় ভরিয়ে আকাশ
মাতৃস্নেহে, তোমার যেখানে আঘাত
আছে যত ক্ষত, প্রলেপ লাগাচ্ছি আমি
তাতে প্রতিনিয়ত, কবে তুমি আসবে
আবার আমার কাছে আমার মতন করে ,
কবে তুমি আমার শিশির বিন্দু,
সাদা কালো মেঘ, উথাল পাঠাল ঢেউ
দিঘীর জলে পানকৌড়ির ডুব
ভোরের বেলায়, সোনালী গোধূলিতে
আমার শত সহস্র রূপ, নিষ্পাপ
শিশুর মত দেখবে দুচোখ ভোরে।   

Worldhood

Many international days pass by
to remember, to recognize the
importance of the roles we play
in our societies, we are proud of
our own national days, we commemorate
days when we appreciate communities
in which we operate, applaud at other
times groups that make us bow to
countries, cities, to the soldiers,
caregivers that had protected and
healed lives with their selfless sacrifice
through ages, for centuries.

On a frenzied night, when I was tipsy
I heard a whisper in the air, it sounded
as if the world was telling me to observe
a border-less day, it was telling me how it
wanted to be free from all the rules that
had scratched its ground... chained it
all around. It also murmured in my
dotty mind to block one day in the
calendar to observe global
interdependence day of the year.

'How would it matter', I asked, it said
it wanted, at least for a day, to be
revered as one single world;
its broken parts, severed as countries
have national, independence days when
how people fought, again and again,
how they permanently separated,
divided, died are applauded, recollected.

The world demanded one day when
men, women, and children would unite
and discuss how they’d live happily
ever after with their new belief, in
their priceless little world comprising
forests, mountains, and deserts.

Like a refrain, the voice told me that
on the Interdependence and Border-less
days peoples would come together to
understand and recognize the importance
of collaborative growth and development,
that they’d remind themselves as to how
despite being unique and different, they
are similar and interdependent; in order
to fight against global headaches how
they could all stand, hand in hand, how,
with the newfound spirit, they could
in unison, celebrate ‘worldhood'* for good.

For a while, I was spellbound by what I heard,
It came from the depth of my woozy world. 

Note:

worldhood* - a new word that means a community in the solar system.