রুপোকাঠি : What follows is not a translation of the wonderful composition, but a conversation (or at least a prelude to the same) that the writer longs for with the Poet. আমার নিশীথ রাতের বাদলধারা is a haunting eulogy to innocence, and a desperate prayer to Simplicity ...
আমার নিশীথ রাতের বাদলধারা
Something that hides itself, deep within the secret chambers of the mind; eternal, pure, and sensitive. There's a longing for it to reveal itself, and yet be invisible; a playfulness that only the bearer shares with the confined; It's so real that in this melancholic drenched night the poet despises warmth; and let there for once, not be Light.
A prayer to the Divine. It's a holiday. Each child is busy disengaging from studies, barring one. The one, who plans to study more on this particular day. There's a belief, that belongs to only one person. Eternity in quanta of epochs.
আমার নিশীথ রাতের বাদলধারা
এসো হে, গোপনে, আমার স্বপনলোকে দিশাহারা
Deep into the night, when the world sleeps, imagine that the pale silence wakes up to the symphony of a short shower burst. No one, but the poet feels the union of sound with silence, the eternal with epoch, life with elements. The shower arrives in stealth, not by its own volition; but by society's fixation with rules. One who is awake, dreams in full faculty of his/her senses. The prayer is for the raindrops to diffuse all along the surreal, yet physical world.
অন্ধকারের অন্তরধন, দাও ঢেকে মোর পরাণ মন
আমি চাইনে তপন, চাইনে তারা
Something that hides itself, deep within the secret chambers of the mind; eternal, pure, and sensitive. There's a longing for it to reveal itself, and yet be invisible; a playfulness that only the bearer shares with the confined; It's so real that in this melancholic drenched night the poet despises warmth; and let there for once, not be Light.
যখন সবাই মগন ঘুমের ঘোরে
নিয়ো গো, আমার ঘুম নিয়ো গো হরণ করে
A prayer to the Divine. It's a holiday. Each child is busy disengaging from studies, barring one. The one, who plans to study more on this particular day. There's a belief, that belongs to only one person. Eternity in quanta of epochs.
একলা ঘরে চুপে চুপে, এসো কেবল সুরের রূপে
দিয়ো গো, আমার চোখের জলে দিয়ো সাড়া।
There's no one in this lonely existence for even a tiny fruitful conversation. There's time; uni-polar and un-involved. But then there's music too, one of those rare uncertain waves of serenity, that binds itself with time. In this union, may be there rests a small fragment of hope.
There is no midnight, there is no courtyard. The Divine plays his flute along the Poet's tempestuous saddle as his existence gallops ahead; the terrain being the uneven contours of his face, towards the soul; and away from it all.
There's no one in this lonely existence for even a tiny fruitful conversation. There's time; uni-polar and un-involved. But then there's music too, one of those rare uncertain waves of serenity, that binds itself with time. In this union, may be there rests a small fragment of hope.
There is no midnight, there is no courtyard. The Divine plays his flute along the Poet's tempestuous saddle as his existence gallops ahead; the terrain being the uneven contours of his face, towards the soul; and away from it all.
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