ভুল করতে ভয় পেওনা
ভুল করে তাই তাকে ডাকো,
মনে প্রাণে তাকেই দেখো,
ভুলভুলাইয়া গলির থেকে
ভোলা তোমায় উতরে দেবে।
A space where eco-socio-political views are shared with love, compassion. Peace, above everything else.
ভুল করতে ভয় পেওনা
ভুল করে তাই তাকে ডাকো,
মনে প্রাণে তাকেই দেখো,
ভুলভুলাইয়া গলির থেকে
ভোলা তোমায় উতরে দেবে।
কেন এখনও আমার মন
আনন্দে থাকে সর্বক্ষণ?
অবাক লোকজন জিজ্ঞেস
করছেন, এ হেনো পুলকের আছে
কি সঠিক কেনো
কারণ?
বলছেন, এ এক ভীষণ
উন্মাদনার লক্ষন।
সত্যিই বোধহয় তাই!
আর তো কিছুই আমার নেই,
সবই তো হারিয়েছে
সবাই তো চলে গিয়েছে,
তবু কিসের ফুর্তি অহরহ,
দিবারাত্রি?
অবুঝ মন
নিজেকেই
প্রশ্ন করে, সময়ের পাঁকে
সময়কে ছাড়া আর কিছু
হারিয়েছে কি? যারা গেছে
তারা হয় আকাশের তারা
হয়ে জ্বলছে চিরতরে,
বাকিরা তো ধরা আছে
স্মৃতিমালার ফ্রেমে,
সহজ সরল প্রেমে।
তাল, ছন্দ, বদলে গেলেও,
হারানো সব গল্পগুলো
আবার যেন ফিরে এলো
চতুর্দিক করে আলো।
আলোয় যেন
পাগল হয়ে
আহ্লাদী প্রাণ সব ভুলিয়ে
উচ্ছাসে আর উল্লাসেতে
মেললো ডানা আকাশেতে।
পালক হৃদয় হেসে, ভেসে
আলোর তালে নেচে গেয়ে
চাওয়া, পাওয়ার বাইরে গিয়ে
যাচ্ছে শুধুই ভালোবেসে।
La meilleure offre
Aujourd'hui, j'apprécierai
moi-même et les beaux
âmes qui viendront sur mon orbite,
j'écouterai les battements positifs
de ma situation, regarderai mes
conditions bienheureuses, je vais
réaliser, avec tout mon être,
combien l’on est comblé !
Mon cœur enlacera
tout ce qui est merveilleux,
simple, beau, la vérité éternelle ;
mon jardin d'or sera doué
des fruits, des fleurs,
sera-t-il plein des oiseaux
qui chanteront des chansons
qui vont raconter des
moments heureux ;
ma terre sera cultivée
de la lune et du soleil,
parée des étoiles,
le jour et la nuit.
Je vous promets
qu'aujourd'hui je ne vais pas
tout simplement vous adorer
en me baladant dans ces
lieux de culte où vous avez tous
été emprisonnés ; aujourd'hui je
vais être comme vous ; et cela
serai ma meilleure offre.
Today, I will appreciate
myself, and all the
beautiful
souls who come in my orbit,
I will listen to the positive beats
of my situation, look at my blissful
circumstance, I will realize
with all my being how lucky
I really am!
My heart will embrace
all that is pleasant,
simple, beautiful,
everlasting truth;
my golden garden
will be gifted with
fruits, flowers, with
dancing birds,
my world will be
enlightened with
the moon and the sun,
and with the twinkling
stars, day and night.
I promise
you
that today, I'm not going
to merely worship you
by hanging out in those
places of worship where all
of you are imprisoned; today,
I will be as adorable as you;
today, I will be you, and this
will be my best offering.
আজ আমি সারাদিন
নিজের, বা অপরের
প্রশংসা
করবো,
নিজের
পরিস্হিতির
সৌন্দর্য
দেখবো, শুনবো
উপলব্ধি
করবো
মনপ্রাণ
ভরে।
যা কিছু
মনোরম,
সহজ, সরল, চিরসত্য
তাই
আলিঙ্গন করবে
আমার
অন্তর,
ফুলে, ফলে, পাখির
গানে
ভোরে উঠবে
আমার
ঝলমলে
সোনালী বাগান,
সূর্যচন্দ্রতারায়
জ্বলজ্বল
করবে আমার
পৃথিবী,
অনুক্ষণ, দিবারাত্রি।
তোমায় কথা দিলাম,
আজ আমি
তোমার
পুজারী
নয়, পুজো করবো
না আজ
তোমায়
কোনো মন্দিরে,
মসজিদে, গির্জায়, যেই কারাগারে
তোমরা
রয়েছো কারারুদ্ধ হয়ে
যুগযুগ
ধরে, আজ আমি হব আমার
কাছে পরম
পূজ্য, আজ আমিই
হব তুমি, তোমার
শ্রেষ্ঠ প্রসাদ।
I'd write on things
that'd make me think,
when they'd touch
my being so much,
that I'd start to sing.
With each story that
makes its mark
on the page, I’d
feel liberated, out
of the cage.
Of course, I’d write
to beat my boredom,
my blues, but with
each requiem, I’d like
to found my kingdom.
Yes, I’d also want
to be read and heard,
but I’d dread to be
an imprisoned bird;
Like a poor peacock
trapped for its beauty,
isolated from his flock;
kept in careful
custody
in a tailor-made garden;
with measured a, b, c,
in claustrophobic air
of a heavy heaven
he'd dance to the
tunes of
his rich and proud owner
before a captive audience
to show his performance,
with copyright credence.
I’d want to fly, high and low
in an open sky, with a rainbow,
I’d want to be in a free forest
where I’d enjoy the rain,
smell the petrichor fresh,
and build my unsteady nest.
I’d write my stories with
my feathers and my
wings,
anytime, in any
season,
be it in autumn or in spring,
whenever I long, wherever I'd wish.
Like a lark, like a cuckoo,
like a magpie, a
kingfisher,
like a tailorbird,
a shoveler,
like an eagle gliding in the blue
I'd merrily chirp
aloud,
under the sun, with the cloud.
The weather could be dry or wet
I could be alone, or with a mate.
fundamentalism shouts,
liberalism
whispers;
money sounds,
wealth whispers;
education shouts,
science sounds
wisdom whispers;
awards, accolades shout,
creation whispers
anger, hatred sound,
love whispers...
although we listen
to the
whispers,
we follow the
sounds
that shout...
news of the world
always chases noise
whispers are unheard,
they seldom have a voice...
Fear is the most
reliable unit selling
point of the world,
no matter what.
Coronavirus is just
a recent phenomenon.
Wonder if there was
ever a beginning, guess
it might have started
with nature. It continued
for many years until
we became experts
in nursing fears, to get
our things done, or undone.
Fear of God would
have followed it.
In the world we see
today, fear gallivants in
every sphere of life,
it's the only common virus
found in all confused minds.
Fear of qualifying in an
examination is no less
a fear than the one
of holding the rank
of a topper. We have fear
in what we learn, unlearn.
Fear of being jobless
equals the fear of being
laid off. In the backbiting,
cutthroat competition,
backstabbing happens
because of fear! In the
world of business, the
CEO and the janitor
have their own set of
worries, just as leaders,
workers have, or possess
politicians vying for power,
pelf, and position.
People with excess wealth,
or those without a roof
over their heads, or the ones
without a square meal,
have their own sets of fear,
their share of agonies, and
pains, regardless of how much
they earn or yearn to earn.
Fear of being single
is no less than the fear
of falling in and out
of love, losing one’s
own companion.
I have to be what I
don’t want to be causes
fear in the same way
when I have to do what
I don’t want to do. We have
overhyped the fear of death,
for the fear of living can take
our breaths away. Without
consciousness and effort,
fear spares no one.
When we train ourselves,
we can see it gone from
our system; all rudeness ends,
insecurities perish, wars
disappear, we discover
that the process of
conquering fear is like
working out in a gym,
we could sweat a lot, but
to slog it out is full of fun.
We might go out of breath
at times, but with patience
and constant effort, we'd gain
in strength in the long run.
With a song or a story
I sense a moment of
catharsis, all my worries
are either shelved or they
commingle with the notes;
I imagine my hands playing,
my feet dancing, my eyes
reading, relishing the words;
as though they are my own
experiences living, traveling
in the trajectory of themes.
The world of words has a
magical spell, it can combine
seen, unseen worlds with a
miraculous ease. The story
in the stories, in the songs,
tells the tales of my failures
and successes, my pitfalls
and glories; it breaks all
barriers, resistances,
inhibitions, in minutes.
We are perpetually in
love with the music in the
texts we watch, listen
or read; it's more real than
the world in flesh and blood.
Stories are never enough.
They are here to play their part
on the stage. We are but stories,
moving on and on. Carefully
crafted words, written or sung
on the pages at times reflect
the ghosts, the skeletons we felt,
yet, never left; at other times,
they mobilize our own dreams.
Getting tired of stories is
like getting tired of our
own breaths, our sad and
sweet songs. So, times!
'If music be the food of love,
play on' and let us live.