ঝরা ফুল [fallen flowers]

পারিনি আমি কিছুই সাজাতে, গুছাতে

এই সু্ন্দর ধরনীর বিছানাতে

একরাশ ফুল হাহাকার ক’রে

ঝ’রে গেল মলীন বিকেলের মাটিতে।

ব্যর্থ সকল কাজ, তিক্ত সকল ফল

ব্রিথা এ বাগান গড়া, বিফল বাঁচার জল

ক্লান্ত চেষ্টাগুলি হারিয়ে হারাতে চায়

বাকি কিছু রয়ে যাওয়া সজ্জিত বিছানায়।

এ মন যে তাই চায় অলস এ সন্ধ্যায়

সদ্যজাত আকাশ ভরা তারায় ও জোছোনায়

লুটপাটি দেওয়া নিরলস ঘাসের হাসিতে

পরে যাওয়া ফোটা ফুলশয্যায় ঘুমতে...

English translation

i could decorate nothing, arrange nothing

on this beautiful bed of earth

heaps of flowers heaved a sigh

as they fell on the pail evening's mud

all work turned meaningless, all results bitter

pointless was this garden, fruitless, this life-giving water 

tired efforts want to lose what they lost as dead

whatever's left in this decorated bed

this mind anon wants, in this lazy falling evening

just born with stars and moon light's shower

on this ripples of grasses with relentless giggles

sleep, on the bed of fallen flowers...


image credit: photogallery.com

moments to eternity

infant night

just born

a beam of light, like a gush

of water that broke from the sky

thousands of births

the twinkling onlookers gleam

is it the same world, one wonders

but who cares, as long as there's no tomorrow

the overwhelmed sky is relieved

takes the night on its lap

and smiles limitless moments

to eternity

image credit: printgallery.com

...I continue to confuse, but refuse to mimic...let the eyes emerge which tear me down into comprehension...i will giggle like the grasses...

The river

I have a river of a mind

It wanders and dances through time,

Banks it does have though

Thanks to which it gets its flow!

I learned from her things she never taught

To nourish the soil tad tired and wrought,

Even if the sky had dried it low

It’d send the clouds to brighten its glow!

The mountains if they blocked its winsome way

Through them it’d swerve and topple away,

The ocean of kindness my mind will meet
The flowing journey will never retreat

The other beauty

What’s in the cage,

your youth, your good golden days

tell me who has ever felt old

your mirror is a liar

What's in the cage,

your precious moments that stopped

tell me who hasn’t it experienced

your time is a liar

What's in the cage,

your precious sorrows, your possessive hurts

tell me who has ever wanted to part with them

your mind is a liar

In all these piles and bunch of attractive lies

The three are beautiful, condemned and forever tied

The cage by chance if it becomes ajar

The other beauty will re-appear

Boats

I’d make boats of paper

and sail them on the waterlogged streets

in it I’d write a message of peace

for the minds to be free of power and greed

I’d write so the plague would forever end

those people unaware, unarmed, killed by siblings and friends

like rats they'd die and continue to die

the flattened boats under the butchered sky.

You taught me mom

to think of souls who lost in the game

in their names they’d float without guilt or shame,

now I am old and you a star

in the sky like another scar,

you are watching my child make those barren boats

in the middle of hatred that choke our throats,

the couplet in Hindi you’d sing and write

'come I will take you under such a sky

where there's no grief, no tears,

but happiness endless is on the high!'

Tell me mom, when will this stop
that sky for our mother will it ever pop
can't even count I'm tired to see,
let boats of hope drown the angry sea

The foundation

beauty, it's birth, often not a mirth

beauty the comprehensible

seeps through the insane source...

robust, understanding, secure

unassuming, callous, stable, sure

rose is more fragile than the thorns

from where she is born

lotus spreads its wings to appeal

muck is the source from where she comes and goes

beauty enchants attracts the senses

from the surface

its source often a nuisance

beauty is born for us to see and feel

the origin, a neglect, unattended shoulder

on which beauty is held

The dying self

In moments, meant to be alive

The Self dies, a thousand deaths

cactus words kill

thorny actions bleed

born out of untrained thoughts

These moments that refuse to die, stage wars around.

Orchestrated with arms, weapons

what could have been a symphony

slaughter and breed frightful foes and feuds

that, which could have seen us all, as friends!

Through time, thoughts of the inseparable beings

in the minds they're made to sing

Build blocks and barriers

no thoughts spared, all spent

in the destruction of the real Self

a living cell dies a thousand deaths.

The writer

Through the streets

Busy, lonely, bustling, deserted

The silent pen in my mind

Talks with strangers, onlookers;

Writes all its actions, inactions

It sees the world as a page.

Days and nights are born

A treasure limitless

With reasons, meaningless

They come and go

Dancing like the waters, it witnesses.

Death, a birth

Beginning, an end

It writes

Captures moments

Relieves for the next

The stage returns and returns.

It goes on and on

Writes the writer without a pause

Some two-liners

Whole night, a man slept with a snake

When he knew he did, he died

Smoking is injurious to health

Gun is not, no gun free zones

A child, born out of rape

Can also breathe

Neighbouring countries can go to hell

Patriots parrot, the village cries

People with weapons and arms

Search for peace

clouds

Let the clouds float...
Go soft, don't blow them away O wind
The sailor-boats up in the head
Will move when it’s time to leave.
 
I can feel a sense of warmth,
In the cold, thick and thin of thoughts,
Let the wind take its time
For it's to clear them all at once!
 
Will I then not see water as water?
Ponds, lakes and oceans will soak in the brain
I’d wait for the clouds to rain and wander!
With winds without names they’d come again