Pursuit

My moment has arrived, in time devoured

Extent to complete hanging onto my hat

Contour of the verge scored

Glimmer of a fiction or fact.

How implausibly stable I’d think,

The demeanour of the constant while,

I’d float in the immovable wave of time

In the preface of my story’s ink.

With hand-holding years seemingly few

Stages slowly passed by

Confines time and again anew

Made me forget, wingless boater could fly.

Today, having arrived at the near end of my game

My seat on the proem as I see,

Everyday dressed just the same

On the flower is the busy blending bee.

Permanence or cliff-hanger, both lie,

In their lazy chorus underlying theme,

Euphonious time stays, appears to wither and fly

Around the balanced, resolute stream.

The Bengali version of the poem is অভিযান, posted here.  

অভিযান

আমার সময় এসেছে,

সব প্রতীক্ষার শেষ ৷

সীমার রেখা টেনেছে,

ঘটনা-গল্প কেটে যাওয়ার রেশ ৷

কি অবিশ্বাস্য স্থায়িই না ভাবতম

এখানের স্থির সময়ের চলাটাকে

কালের অচল স্রোতে ভাসতাম

গ’ড়ে চলা কাহীনির ভূমিকাতে ৷ 

বছরের হাত ধ’রে,

সময় চলে যেত,

সীমানা নতুন ক’রে,

ডানাহীন গতিকে ভুলিয়ে দিত ৷

গল্পের প্রায় শেষপ্রান্তে এসে আজ 

দেখি, শুরুতেই ব’সে আছি ৷

প্রতিদিনের একিরকম সাজ,

ফুলেতেই সেই সুরেলা মৌমাছি ৷

শেষের কাছে শুরুর মিছে কথা,

শুরুর সাথে শেষের নৃত্যগান,

সবই বুঝি নিত্য সুরে বাধা,

তালের সাথে গতির অভিযান ৷

The English translation of the poem is Pursuit, posted here. 

Affluence flowers as lotus

Money and wealth, in essence

Coagulate in our brain,

Clot as hard dirt, filth, all in vain.

Until the firmness unites, melts into affluence,

From the same dirt, filth just the same,

They choose to resurrect with pride, without shame.

The united one, flowers as lotus,

Ceaselessly flows from our brains to our hearts.

Conflict

Conflict, a deadly weapon, ghastly

Routed deep, mellowed as an entertainment

Intelligence, pray you play your flute gently

And tune us a way out, from this predicament.

Of lizards

Lizard lies

In the branches

Hiding and writing stories

In human minds

Of changing times

Nature's wings

Crow mothers

Cuckoo sings

Human wanders

In nature's wings

Of war and peace

Scarecrow is to birds

As war is to peace

At cross purposes

Scarecrows

Bird-watch

Crops hatch

Starving grows

Of flowers

Lotus appears in ponds

Rose comes with thorns

Same stories from same stalks

Mere flowers

They know little of words

But to exist and perish, for lovers

Here's to the Peoples of the World

Weapons rain,

Intelligence cries.

Wars refrain,

Destruction lies.

The world floods

With obliging bloods.

Drop the guns, the world says

But arms everyone buys and sells.

Power with arms, a primitive style

Thoughts crucified, in history’s file.

233 countries? 6 continents! Such a small number

Yet unable to wake up, from their condemned slumber.

When People would be up with their peaceful power

In an hour they’d ruin, the need to kill and war.

Leaders will follow the Peoples of the World,

Intelligence will smile, glowing and kind

Weapons will rust until they're blurred 

Until they drain and wither from the minds.