Newfound revolution

Revolution doesn't have a head,
throughout history, it had only bled;
in time and space, it had repeatedly failed,
economies, equanimities have gone
down the drain;
while enemies kept counting enemies,
the lookalikes also counted on the dead;
but, what had made the revolt spread
like wildfire, like the endemic plague
are questions brainy people need to address
with atonement, objectivity, and grace.

Else,
keep on fighting.
Either for or against a cause,
keep on righting the wrong,
keep on killing heroes and villains,
the inseparable twins;
let Hollywood, based on true stories,
earn its living by filming
the killing of teenagers
in the central park as late as in 2017,
or, in 1988, by vividly showing
how a 10-year-old was violated, 
leading to Mississippi burning;
let Hollywood earn Oscars, accolades,
you keep on losing lives
for the next hundred years,
you keep on living in the mess.

Whatever be it, don’t fall prey
to another gimmick,
by suddenly witnessing a white police
hugging the blacks; the whites, 
for ages, have dominated the world,
we were their slaves 
for many agonizing, useless years,
don’t ever trust any public show
of camaraderie and affection;
send them to schools where
they’d earn the real education;
remember, you have nothing to lose
you'll never be in their good books
be unafraid to be unpopular
for a brighter, hopeful future;
until then, let them feel the pain - 
that of feeling light
from the white man’s burden,
teach them not to judge people
on the basis of colors;
let their minds be ignited
from within, let them look
at the world as one nation;
let anger, jealousy, hatred, 
destruction, yearning for bloodshed
be effaced, be completely beheaded; 
let peace, purity, integrity, transformation 
be the pillars of this newfound revolution.

Shall we ever overcome

Well, rest assured,

gone are the days

of the KKK and the Nazis?

Think again then

cause even in the 2020s

you have cases of Christian Cooper,

George Floyd and many others.

Chicken roasts, watermelons

are not things that you eat,

this is how the blacks are called

by the whites, in the land of opportunities;

the difference is perhaps never to end

the delinquent feud, never to cease,

only on the zebra crossings

would the black and white meet.

You have disappointed us America!

You belong to the hall of shame,

if you’d like to rebuild your glory,

rewrite your unfair history.

There’s one novel called Americanah,

that speaks volumes of the race

despite Hollywood, Disney land, and NASA

the White House has fallen from grace.

The KKK and the Nazis

are now living in the green room,

surreptitiously changing their outfit,

they appear sometimes as Police,

at other times, in Amy Cooper’s habit.

You have looked down upon the blacks

and the browns for generations,

you have called them names, attacked

them with your unkind words and actions, 

now do something really good and different

to end your characteristic indifference

the whole world is looking up to you,

we know your skin is way too fair

now, for the sake of goodness
please be fair in your behavior too.

Listen to Jackson's song again, Big brother,

"It don't matter if you're black or white"

the mindless violence continues, 

the meaningless fight continues,

injustice appears in black and white,

injustice appears in black and white.

The song of Martin Luther junior

still beats the desperate drum, 

from this mayhem, from this amiss

from this dark abyss

shall we ever overcome?

The facts may be cruel, unkind

but let's have faith in the land,

peaceful coexistence we may find

if we give each other a helping hand;

there's always hope in despair;

I'd like to say aloud, I'd like to say it aloud
'good whites far outnumber the bad', 
I can see hues in the tarnished color

like Maya's ‘rainbow in the cloud’.

Duty, a priceless gift

Duty is divinity. 
Whether or not
you believe in god
it becomes an emblem,
a symbol; worship it
every single day,
sing it like an anthem
in your own simple way.

When you attach stakes
with it, namely, power, dignity
you make fatal mistakes,
lose sight of your true identity;
hatred, competition, animosity,
make your innocuous deity
far too mundane, monotonous, dirty.

Do not make it harsh and noisy
like a brook, let it flow
as though a dulcet ditty,
it might sound strange for some
you may be regarded as dotty,
but the method in the madness
will perform magics, miracles;
you will experience happiness,
elevated way beyond
failures, successes.

The lonely chores can be a winsome chorus,
what seems out of tune, can sound melodious;
when the mission becomes a stubborn habit
the world can heal, the sky can be the limit,
a dull, routine job can be a priceless gift.

পরিবর্তনের পালা

পরিবর্তনের পালা

আর বেশি সময় নেই 

বোধহয় আমাদের হাতে

ঝগড়া আড়ির ঝামেলা তাই

মিটিয়ে চল চলি একসাথে। 

বিদ্বেষের বিষাক্ত হলাহল

পান করা নিদারুণ যন্ত্রনা

মন হোক সতেজ, সরল

ছুঁড়ে ফেলো ঘৃণার আবর্জনা। 

ক্ষমার অক্ষমতা সে যে লজ্জা ভীষণ 

এ গ্লানি নিজেকেই গ্রাসে সর্বক্ষণ

আর যে সময় বেশি নেই এখন, 

সব শত্রুতার পরিনাম হোক 

কল্যাণময় মিত্রতা

পৃথিবী ধ্বংস হবার আগে এসো 

শেষ করি কলহ দ্বন্দ্বের দীনতা।

Sunset

Sunset.

My favourite plaything.
I cuddle in it. End of talks,
tasks, of meaningless huddles.
Birds retiring to their nests;
a festival begins, that of
a well-deserved rest.

For me, bedtime stories
of the past, stuffed toys
of unbreakable memories
surround the hopeful air
with crimson hues,
the trained profiteering mind
will unchain again, soon the sky
will be full of silver stars,
my little eyes will relive the
comforting lines,
those twinkling lullabies.

 
Time says times.

Tomorrow.
The sun will rise.
Its lightness, full with
golden promises will
perhaps be the same,
yet, I will await the sunset,
to play my silent game.

In your dreamy eyes

In your dreamy eyes

lies my loving world,
a golden garden,
with disparate fruits,
divergent flowers, offbeat birds;
enough space for varieties
of contrasting shapes, sizes,
fragrances, diverse melodies;
no range for anger, jealousies
competitions, and such other
acquired intellectual maladies.

In your pensive eyes
lies my eternal palace,
where there’s enough room
for me, others, all individuals,
a humbly ostentatious stage
stable, secured; firmly
grounded with grace.

In your calming eyes
lies my restless mind
suddenly still, realizes
the futility of looking with
the stereotype impaired pair,
borrowed glasses;
recognizes the utility of gazing
with the primeval ‘trinayana’,
with whose vision all differences
wither, coalesce into the
enlightened soulful ‘gnyana’.

In your dreamy eyes
lies my vision. As deep 
as the ocean; I long
to drown in them.
Treasured realities
for the keep, come unto me
like waves, over and over again.

Note:
trinayana – the third eye
gnyana - wisdom

Child

A baby is a blob of nature,
it dies soon after its birth,
feelings blurred in words;
they break the child into parts
through language, culture,
through countless identifiers -
a dog remains a puppy forever.

Copyright

Even if I write smallest of poems

I have to copyright them. 

Wonder who brought those

Stones on the steepest of mountains, 

Who made those monuments? 

Name

‘No! Please don’t put
my name on the list…
What? Okay, if you insist’.
Smiles the humble face,
‘you know this, I guess
if it’s for everyone’s benefit,
so be it, but I never
ever want the credit’.

‘No! I never suggested this
I want to be out of this mess
so many layoffs? It’s your baby,
I don’t want them to trace
my name, it’ll lead me in jeopardy
so count me out, please’.

‘No! They didn’t do it, we did.
How’s it that they’re applauded
for what our team had toiled.
We will sign a petition of protest,
our united voice will sound,
we have our feet on the ground
our silence will break,
they’ve got to include our name
for heaven’s sake’.

‘Oh! I was nominated’,
‘I was called to preside’,
‘I was awarded’
once, twice thrice
countless times, maybe’!
You’ve got to take them seriously?

‘But as far as I can see.
My predicament
on the seat of judgement
is unquestionable,
like all of you there,
I am no wannabe
you’ve got to humour me?’

Caught in camera

A black bird and a red bird
were pecking on the same fruit
hanging on the topmost branch
of a tree. Seeing this
poets wrote poetry on scarcity,
fiction writers paged power play,
playwrights added colours of discrimination,
a painter’s doodle sensed
courtship beyond imagination,
reporters staged a cold war,
an ornithologist was simply amazed
at their ability to share,
while a photographer caught the parents
carrying food for their baby dudes.

Humour the old

Without the old
it's not just a typo,
but a mistake
to form the world.

O, my Emperor [English and French Translations of a song by Tagore sung by Sahana Bajpaie]

The original Bengali version, written by Tagore

In English

O, my Emperor!
How divinely dressed have you come
in the realm of my heart, to beat.
Millions of Moons and Suns shamefully
bow to you, in willing defeat.
All pride shatter into pieces,
they collapse merrily on the ground,
my whole body and mind dances,
plays like a Veena, without a sound.
What a beautifully sad tune
is humming in the wind!
All flowers in the garden willingly
fall at your shining feet.
My eyes are still,
behold nothing of the
world outside -
they descry your majestic beauty,
your loving presence, lying deep inside.

Disclaimer: 

I tried to post this on 8 May as it was the birth anniversary of Tagore, but I couldn't because the BBC kept me occupied with the 75th anniversary of the VE. So this is posted today.

All Tagore’s translations have one thing in common, they always fail. And I am no Yeats. With my poor English, I could only do this much. Even if you have understood a little, I would remain obliged. Otherwise please learn Bengali first if you have to understand Tagore.

Since this is a song, popularly known as Rabindrasangeet, you may listen to the beautiful rendition by a renowned singer Sahana Bajpaie by clicking here.

About the singer:

Bajpaie was born at Santiniketan, West Bengal, India. She spent her childhood at Santiniketan and lived there till 2002. Both of her parents were professors of political science at the University of North Bengal. She took her first lessons in music from her father, Bimol Bajpaie, and learned to sing at the age of six. Later she started taking learning from eminent musicians of Santiniketan like Bijoy Sinha, Chitra Roy, Shyamali Banerjee, Chandan Manda and Mita Haque and received training in Indian classical music and Rabindra Sangeet. In 2005, Bajpaie joined BRAC University in Dhaka as a lecturer in English. In May 2008, she left for London, where she is pursuing her PhD in Ethnomusicology at Kings College, London. [Source: Wikipedia]

In French

O, mon Empereur!

O, mon Empereur!
A quel point vous êtes-vous habillé
afin de battre mon cœur.
Des millions de lunes et de soleils
s'incline honteusement devant vous,
dans une défaite aimante.
Toutes les fiertés se brisent en morceaux,
ils s'effondrent heureusement sur le sol,
tout mon corps et mon esprit dansent,
joue comme une Veena, sans la parole.
Quelle mélodie magnifiquement triste
fredonne dans le vent!
Toutes les fleurs du jardin tombent
volontiers à vos pieds brillants.
Mes yeux sont immobiles,
ils ne voient rien du monde extérieur, apparent -
ils témoignent votre beauté majestueuse,
profondément présente, dedans.

Avertissement: 

J'ai essayé de poster la traduction le 8 mai car c'était l'anniversaire de naissance de Tagore mais je n'ai pas pu parce que j’étais occupé du 75e anniversaire de la VE grâce a BBC. Je publie donc ceci aujourd'hui.

Toutes les traductions de Tagore ont une chose en commun, elles échouent toujours. Et je ne suis pas Gide! Avec mon mauvais français, je ne pouvais que faire d’autant que cela. Même si vous auriez compris un peu, je resterais énormément obligé. Sinon, veuillez d'abord apprendre le bengali si vous voudriez vraiment comprendre Tagore.

Puisqu'il s'agit d'une chanson, populairement connue sous le nom de Rabindrasangeet, vous pouvez écouter la magnifique interprétation de Sahana Bajpaie, une chanteuse très connue, en cliquant ici.

À propos de la chanteuse:

Bajpaie est née à Santiniketan, au Bengale occidental, en Inde. Elle a passé son enfance à Santiniketan et y a vécu jusqu'en 2002. Ses deux parents étaient professeurs de science politique à l'Université du Bengale du Nord. Elle a pris ses premières leçons de musique auprès de son père, Bimol Bajpaie et a appris à chanter à l'âge de six ans. Plus tard, elle a commencé à apprendre auprès d'éminents musiciens de Santiniketan comme Bijoy Sinha, Chitra Roy, Shyamali Banerjee, Chandan Manda et Mita Haque et a reçu une formation en musique classique indienne et en Rabindra Sangeet. En 2005, Bajpaie a rejoint l'Université BRAC à Dacca en tant que professeur d'anglais. En mai 2008, elle est partie pour Londres, où elle poursuit son doctorat en ethnomusicologie au Kings College de Londres. [Source : Wikipédia]