Let him live, don't grant him leave

Don't demand justice

That'll deplete your soul

Killing a killer

Who's rather a scapegoat

Is not your goal. 

Let him live in the ghettos

For next seventeen years

Let him go and stay

In the third world, 

If you want justice

Ask them to change some laws

That deprive you of your rights, 

That are wrongfully flawed;

For heaven's sake

Justice will be denied

If you let him die. 

You say no justice no peace

Peace is unconditional

If you know what it means. 

The police who killed, 

And his colleagues who didn't 

Prevent

Were all representatives

Of the state

Please have some sense. 

Now looking at the massive protest

The state will disown him

To display plastic justice

Will not let him breathe, 

But if you want justice

Let him serve, let him live

Don't spare him, don't let him leave. 

Dying is an easy exit

Given the chance and choice

Most of us would want 

To leave this troubled world

And heave a sigh of relief, 

Please listen to your inner voice

He deserves to serve in the ghettos

He needs to transform his beliefs. 

Crow

Crow is a beautiful bird

Most unnoticed, most unsung

A silent worker, it cleans 

The environment in the best 

Possible way, I wish I could 

Make the selfless scavenger

The supreme symbol of

World environment day. 

It also tells me how loving

Parents need to be, 

Genuinely caring and true;

For all humans, it's a lesson, 

It nurtures its own children

It fosters, adopts a cuckoo too. 

If the world would allow me

To chirp in my way,

I would make the crow

A befitting symbol of parent's day. 

The crow is a blackbird, 

Unsung, ignored, unheard.

We never look at it as a healer, 

Seldom as a parent figure, 

Partly because of its work,

Partly because of its color.

My people of the world, 

Black is the color of honesty,

A supreme color of authority, 

It's powerful, it's pure as the dew, 

Black's inclusive, cause it accepts,
And absorbs all other hues, 

It's a color of truth and clarity, 

It's a symbol of human dignity. 

I can breathe

Let the war of the third world
be against corruption, manipulation
against the slave trade of sorts
in the name of immigration.
Let the war of the third world
be against injustice, murder,
caprice, and torture;
the war of the third world
is not the third world war.

The same brain-drained workforce
works wonders in the first world,
they beautify the streets, paint the walls
they nurture, safeguard all possible resource;
as daily wage earners, they are these miners,
world-class scientists, engineers, and doctors.

They’re unconscious of their sins,
they’re busy making the first world richer,
while their lands, the poor cousins,
lie neglected, year after year.

Is a comfortable lifestyle everything?
To their motherlands, do they owe nothing?
Look at those clever people of the first world,
they make them do the donkey’s work,
they hire them, lure them, 
cage them with lofty payment,
yet, they remain forever
an immigrant, a foreigner.

Off now from the lazy comfort zone
let them stop working
for the first world anymore
it’s never their orbit,
always a strange ambit,
it was never their own.

All singers, poets, leaders
of their color and skin
had asked them to fight
for their right, so they win,
but over the years, again and again
their efforts went in vain.

This poem is now planting a thought;
asking them to think, to regain what’s lost,
and go back to where they truly belong
where they can write a fresh new song.
.........

Ye men, women, and children,
you can’t breathe here,
isn’t that evident?

Do something insane to save
the soil where you were born,
be selfless, unafraid, and brave,
your soil is where
the seed needs to be sown.

Found an organization that
immediately stops immigration,
that resurrects the third world
into its whole new avatar,
where a smiling heaven
falls in love with the golden garden,
where sing birds of various colors,
where bloom flowers and fruits
of different, and varied nature,
where the streets are as clean
homes with lawns are just as green
where businesses flourish,
industries grow just as they do
in this affluent first world,
where comforts and amenities
are not merely foreign words.

In your own stage,
you'll never be an immigrant
you'll not be in exile anymore,
like the terrible years of the yore;
in your own world,
you'll have a paradise above,
and a kingdom beneath
where, with feet on the ground
you can shout aloud and say,
'I can breathe, I can breathe'.

The third world

How befitting would it be
if the third world would wake up
from its slumber, from this amiss,
put the casual killing of the blacks
behind, let George Floyd sleep in
peace.

How benefitting would it be
if all the non-whites would unite
and engage in building their
deserted, neglected motherlands
and make them as beautiful,
as comfortable as the first world
to end for good, their horrendous
nightmare.

How wonderful would it be
if there were no protests,
no badmouthing, no more spread
of negatives, of fake dreams,
but a real display of resilience,
vim, and vigor,
a firm and determined desire
to rebuild, redesign the ignored land,
to give each other a helping hand
to reconstruct and realize
the long-lost paradise.

Now is the time to pull in their socks
and begin the journey at all costs
towards growth, and development
to breathe under their own firmament,
to see there are no immigrants
who get lured in the first world
to earn money, a good lifestyle;
let the third world transform their countries
into lands of similar opportunities.

O, black Peter! O, Pied Piper!
they could not listen to you;
what were you thinking
when you were lying flat
on the ground, and battling to
breathe? Were you telling
them to leave this foreign land
for good, or were you asking them
to fight meaningless wars
right here, demand justice
from those who don’t have the means
to offer equality and peace!

How wonderful would it be
if all the non-whites belonging
to all collars; the sincere, hard workers,
the cream of erudite scholars
would concur and unite
to change their fate once and for all.

How fascinating would it be
if the non-whites found an organization
whose mission would be
to build comfort and happiness
through industries and businesses
in their underestimated lands
to set all non-whites free.

O, my Beloved! O, my Friend!
give them the grit and strength
so they could put an end
to this mindless killing,
so it’s not just wishful thinking;
they could discover peace within
their winsome, untouchable soul,
O, my magical Tutor! 
Help them achieve this goal.

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