Biography of Ashik Mahmud
Department of English
Ashik Mahmud Poems
Stuck In Between Blurred Line
I am moved without moving, Moved by a photo and stuck for a while All those heavens with no clouds! Or, the river seems to be a stunned mirror
The Colour Of The Lines
They act like Muslims can't be Indians Even though dogs can be Even European dogs
(non) Sense Of Sweetness
The sweetest colour of orange May bloom for the dry poles, The sweetest colour of star apple May switch season for black holes,
The fog never knew That it had the power- To darken the whole world, To resist the rays on earth, to conquer the whole air.
World That Not Yours; Could Be Ours
Our world is not like yours It's neither Indian nor European Desert is far away Bay is just an inch away
Theory Of Immortality
We have lost our tastes Taste that used to be poets Or, we had no taste and yet to have one, Those who understand poems
Dreamt A Déjà Vu
Twice a Dream twice in a row In a single sleep raw, but could not trace Was it in deep sleep or déjà vu of dreams? Twenty five years of sleeping experience
The Colony Of River
The river is still here It was used to be ours. The river you came by It was used to be ours.
Volcanoes And Falls
Eyes have ceased time for another blink; Seeing Yet stoned at the feeling station, Catalyzing a feeling of happy-to-be-fallen,
In The Skull
In the skull- An endemic season blooms with summer snow; So a Jupiter, masters all winds marched for spring show. In the skull-
Narcissist I Adore!
How could you do this to me? What makes you do this to me? You just left me, alone on the shore! Of an entire ocean blue, I never adore!
Brain In The Root
There was a tree in the age Before the Ice age, A Green Tree- It had Everything and brain like Icarus In its root; Like Doctor Fostus
Decorum Of Falling
Snow looks best when it falls, Rain does not exist until it falls, Falls looks Falls when it falls, Man becomes Man when he falls.
The Dream Of A Weaver
Oh my dreams, favourite dreams- do not return, never try even; Never come back, I am done with you You have surfeited long enough.
Out Of Dry Petals
Of Dry Petals
Dry Petals may seem prosaic
Like blank verses of the evening
Tuned with symphonies of silver moon and stars around
Promise a lyric so near so soon-
Of chirping, Of Dew drowned dawn;
Dry petals deceives sight more in bright,
Petals, not dead, all that need is a butterfly flap
For a spin of air or monsoon shower to fall on the ground