'What remains in the folded sleeves of the winter-sky
What exists in the ceaseless gibberish of the evening-madness
Whose empathy advances from earth towards the bunches of green leaves
What keeps growing in the scribbling of a fade, rough notebook... ”
...
Once Yama asked a grave-digger, for whom have you dug grave today?
The grave-digger smiles, you know-
nobody has died in our city.
...
When we forget the name of a 'ghat' left behind;
When a known face cannot be recalled at any attempts;
...
'Some deaths slipping away from murderous shape
beholds our conscience;
makes the night profound;
then the calm soul sleeping
...
I saw an unknown musketeer in my dream;
a pair of eyes of stone followed me
from somewhere very close, nearby.
...
Forgetting over and over,
his mind is a killing ground now;
he is to stand face to face with death
in a cold war everyday.
...
Swimming across a river-edge,
a tiger came to a village;
a burning fire-bright tiger;
whichever house he visit
...
Bringing home Rupa Tashmin,
I saw an apple and a knife on my table.
Opening the northern window,
the wild-fowl warbled in the wood,
...
1.
A cat haunted a shalik, playfully. That bird dies off before the eyes of some earth-doves sitting on the tree. The moment the jerking stops, the moment death approaches- in what an unknown restraint, the cat retreats, slowly.
2.
...
Once intruding into an orchard, a hungry boy
Ate up some well-ripe apples,
Moreover, he hid some more beneath his wears.
The sentry saw this theft in his dreams while drowsing.
...
Rayhan Rhyne is a poet, fiction writer, and translator. He teaches philosophy at Jahangirnagar University, Savar, Dhaka.)
Pigeon
'What remains in the folded sleeves of the winter-sky
What exists in the ceaseless gibberish of the evening-madness
Whose empathy advances from earth towards the bunches of green leaves
What keeps growing in the scribbling of a fade, rough notebook... ”
Father taught how to cut open
The poisoned wheat-seeds from the stomach of a pigeon;
He descends amid thick fogs towards the lowland;
A flock of pigeons flies off, suddenly,
Flutters wings, flies towards a direction, where death looms large.
Their flying route is white with fogs;
A bunch of pangs keeps fluttering
throughout the whole morning!
(Translated from Bangla By Raihan Sharif.)
Rayhan Rhyne's poems are one of the best things I allowed to be part of my everyday thoughts. I welcome all to enjoy his poems. Once you feel them somewhere in your pulse, they will most likely be part of you. Cheers!