Universe

The universe must be a lonely place
And it's expanding;
Billions of stars, songs of their grace
Yet the darkness is shining.
Wonders a tiny planet about the space;
Her moon has gone into hiding
The universe must be a lonely place
With the loneliness accelerating.

Sandhi

Notojanu hote parbo na ami,
Parbo na ami dite hirer angti;
Parbo na chowrastar more
Premik seje tomake sekhate gondi.
Lal neel fule tomake bholate
Chai na ami gorte kono fondi,
Na-i ba holo amar deshe,
Klanto raater bhorer sathe sandhi.
Asbe jodi bonya ashuk:
Dhuye dik sob ateeter kolorob;
Jodi kichu tao khwoto theke jay,
Tomay sudhu kore nebo anubhob.

Oshukh

Shunechilam kar jeno oshukh hoyechilo
Majhrate rastay lamppost-er gaaye mutto
Kono ek rotnogorbhar gorber shontan;
Oshukh hoyechilo kukuer, je seta chetechilo.

Prem piriter chhaya mariye ami choli na
Jemon gobor eriye choli, temni bhalobasha
Lofalufi khelar boyesh, koutuhol dutoi geche
Daktari pass korechi; samay nei murgi poshar.

Forget the odds

Forget the footsteps of midnight
Forget the symbol's glittering light
Forget the candies, and our smiles
Forget the missed train, my city guide
Forget the blister, forget the wine
And I shall forget the love in your eyes.

But what do I see, I am too blind!
Curtains fly when raised too high,
So forget the chasm left behind.
'Time heals and books suffice'
Myths are our fundamental rights.
Forget the moment, if one had arrived.

Knife

I argue, for the sake of argument
For the fine balance of confusion
And opinion; for chaos, dilemma,
Patterns, ruling in guise of nostalgia.

I kill, amputate and burn your stories
And walk alone through the labyrinth
Of hollow sockets on forsaken skulls
I am destiny, sniffing on hidden scars.

Seldom I wake up in him, yours truly
I am the thorn he needs, to remove
All other thorns stinging him otherwise;
Me, him; him, me : a knife in disguise!

Inheritance

This is to address the ridiculous in me,
Entrapped in casinos and bets on identity.
Each lost bet hurts my capital of morality;
Inheritance is a bunch of chains, roaming free.

Why should I waste my poem with more lines?
Each poem is an election of manufactured lies.
Lies that stay safe within safes of guarding eyes
You, me; our eyes are too tired for another Sunrise.

Executioners know how polygamous inheritance is
Hence the blood is dead, the blood that is spilled
So throw away your religion, throw away the beliefs
Whatever they taught us, our inheritance is sick!

Eternity and beyond.

Yes, there will never be enough of
Days, hours, minutes or seconds
In short, my love, for me, with you
Eternity will fall short of moments.

Sholte

Dada, ami banchte chai...
Mom sesh; kintu ami?
Ami to mom na, amakei
Joriye dakho benche ache sikha!
Ogunti aguner shwakkhor
Amar rong shushe nilo,
Ajosro momer barite bharate-
Ami loadshedding e ashar thikana.

Chul

Bhabchi, tor chhobi ankbo kina
Anmona chokh beye,
Naker bnadha thele
Tor chul neme asche;
Shei pith dhaka chul dekhei
Hothat porechilam preme.
Sei chul-i aj kome esheche,
Tor thont chnuye tor hate
Eliye dicche nijeke, bhalobeshe.

Ki eshe jay

Dhor, tui bhul kore pore felli
Bhalobashar poshak amar kobitay;
Ami je tao nogno-i theke gelam
Prosroyer neshay; tate ki eshe jay?

Coffee

The thing with coffee is
It leaves a bad after-taste
That keeps lurking around
Until you wash it away.

Coffee helps in staying awake
While sleep is the one neglected;
But it doesn't strike you at all
Because you are asleep anyway.

Yet, you will blame alcohol
For the mess that has befallen;
And coffee can simply replicate
In fool's paradise of heart-aches.

Molom

Tai bhabi, kothay kothay here jai

Amar satyir kono drishti nei aj

Tor chokh bhora koutuholer shanai

Goriye porche shur; nikhunt haater kaj.

Tai bhabi, amar kobitar ki mulyo!

Bheshe geche koto attalikar kaanch;
Tor norom kaday kaancher tukror lal -

Molom rekhe dilam, ushno moner aanch.

Dusk

Dusk is yet another of your stories
One of those few, I wrote for myself;
The one where the pink river carries
Your footsteps and my heartbeats.

Dusk is just one of those unsaid stories,
Which manage to illuminate the horizon;
The line beyond which resides realities,
Of an old dream and a young anguish.

Dusk essentially belongs to our stories,
Those which I write everyday, in peace
And will keep writing on broken strings,
For they are the ones you will never read.

Bubble

There's my home, out there
An inverted painted image, somewhere.
There's a garden, within a garden
And an obtuse angle, far from a square.
There's a bubble ready to burst
As greedy gravity looks to satiate its thirst.
A young branch with its first teardrop
Is learning to let go for monsoon wouldn't stop.

Eve-ning

Where does the Sun shine in the evening,
When she decides to recite her mourning?
Where do the teardrops build her castle?
Why does the river wind around her tale?

Her tale is what always forms my stories -
Random landscapes of elation and miseries;
And as the breeze, mountains and life pass by
She returns to her friendly night sky
                          As each Evening sets with a sigh.

Byatha

কবিতার প্যাঁচে হারিয়ে কি লাভ?
অঙ্ক করতে বসেছি, শেষ সন্ধ্যায় ;
অঙ্ক মিলবে না জানি, অযথা হিসাব।

তোর আকাশের তারা গুনছিলাম,
হাজার হাজার তুই, তোর প্রতিবিম্ব ;
আর আমার ভালোবাসার স্নিগ্ধ বদনাম।

তাই আমার কবিতা পড়িস না ঘুমের আগে
চোখ খুললেই সহস্র কবিতা পুড়ে ছাই;
অঙ্ক, আকাশ, কবিতা - ফোঁড়ায় ব্যাথা লাগে।

Her

What are drops, but one, two and three;
Where's the flame to set teardrops free?
What is cold, but emotions running dry;
Why is warmth sliding down her eyes?

What's a promise, but a misguided choice;
From where does her silence get its voice?
Why do you care, how her life should be?
What's life, but a collage of all her dreams.