Mohon Raihan

Mohon Raihan Poems

I'll tear out your avaricous tongues.
You who utter fantasies and call yourselves poets.
We don't need the tree of art
that has no root in the depth of the soil.
...

2.

I know what a woman is,
I know what love is,
I have smelt many a flower.
But I never belonged to anyone
...

Ithica, my Ithica, is now in jail.
The state has sentenced her
for the offence of loving.
Today a wall stands between the two
...

4.

Where have you kept them, where,
how many do you have?
Come, speak up, shouted
the police chief again and again.
...

One day
while passing through wonderful moonlight
I saw a primeval bird drinking the moon
and devouring the silence of moonlit night
...

Finally no darkness can keep out
the morning light.
The red flood-tide of the rising sun
drives out the blackness of the night
...

Thirsty are my two eyes,
yet the sea is far far away.
A red rose seems to blossom
in my thirst
...

If I ever meet Nupur
I will tell her,
'Listen, Nupu,
Tomorrow a procession shall march the street,
...

I ploughed this land
and grew in it golden corns.
But the seed I planted here,
at the expense of my blood and flesh
...

Did the Man distribute relief goods
during the famine?
Did he provide shelter to the
flood-stricken,
...

Mohon Raihan Biography

Mohon Raihan Mohon Raihan, the celebrated poet of the 1970s, entered the literary world after 1971. In 1971 the young Mohon, barely 15 years old, went to war against the Pakistan occupation army in Bangladesh. His fame as a rebel poet spread in post-liberation Bangladesh when he matured to both poetry and political struggle against successive tyrannical governments. Mohon Raihan went to police custody, prison houses and torture chambers many times but did not sell his soul out. He remained in the forefront of political and cultural struggles in the 1980s,1990s and even to this day. Presently he holds the offices of the General Secretary of the Bangladesh Writer's Club and the Vice-President of the Jatio Kabita Parishad (National Poetry Council) . Meanwhile, Mohon Raihan published 15 volumes of original and collected poems by himself. It is of some interest to note that the poet's father, late Fordad Hossain, had also beeb a freedom fighter in a different era. Forhad Hossain was a member of the Azad Hind Fauj of the Indian National Army Organized by the legendary Subas Chandra Bose during the last days of the British rule in South Asia. Mohon Raihan was educated in his native district of Sirajgonj in northern Bangladesh. Later he studied at both Dhaka Collage and Dhaka University. He graduated with a Master's Degree in Bengali Language and Literature from Dhaka University. He edited many little and not so little magazines. Around the latter is the once celebrated weekly `Dikchinha' (The Signposts) . The poet Mohon Raihan in married to Rokshana Lais and they have two children- Shahosh Raihan and Aggnita Raihan.)

The Best Poem Of Mohon Raihan

The Need For Brave People

I'll tear out your avaricous tongues.
You who utter fantasies and call yourselves poets.
We don't need the tree of art
that has no root in the depth of the soil.
Today we need art for life's sake.
We want to get back the smell of the earth.
Today with an angry pledge in my chest
I want to spread a conflagration
in the corridors of time.

Today with my resolute hand
I'll pull off your head the false crown
of the poet you wear.
I spit, spit, spit at your face!
I am not going to accord you
the slightest respect.
You, dumb cowardly teachers,
bastard bootlicking intellectuals,
I'll crush your skull with a tremendous blow.

From the anger seething in the chest
of a twenty-year-old youngman,
from the blazing vigour of youth
shining like a new weapon
I'll hurl my fierce anger like a handgrenade
at the fake intellectuals writers teachers
poets and moth-eaten politicians.
I trample under my two feet
the data provided by the bourgeoisie economists.
Who says that this soil, this water, these men
and these ploughs have failed?
I do not accept the talk of food shortage
in this land so rich in crops,
I do not accept it at all.
I kick at imperialism and her planning experts.
What we need today are brave people!

Today we need a noble and resolute teacher,
tender like the crucified Jesus.
Today we need heroic intellectuals
who can give sparks of fire like a furnace.
Today we need poets who cherish in their heart
both flowers and gunpowder.

In our rib-bones the ignominy of our failure aches.
One day our humiliation despair pain anger
will find its way to a bloody revenge
through a hidden trigger.
I love rivers water flowers birds,
yet green health and sanity and tender
hands of affection have not
come back into my life.
Oh, where did'they lose mother's loving glance?

I pine, I bleed,
I spend sleepless hours, sleepless nights, sleepless life,
but still some people dream of palaces.
They want to ride the chariot of dreams
and have a coloured life.

The professors agricultural expents surgeons
medical men engineers technicians scientists
of this land
sit in planes,
they look at the smiling faces of pretty
airhostesses
and smoothly arrive in USA, in Europe,
and currently, in large numbers,
in the countries of the middle East.

Our one-time leftists now rush to Sri Lanka
like shoals of hilsa fishes swimming
against the current with the first rains.
The weapons of Satanic imperialism,
disguised in democracy's garb,
dance again and again.
See, how the octopus tries to strangle
the voice of the people at every opportune
moment.

Our uneducated politicians have little understanding
of culture.
They understand better the art of elections.
Today the beloved, forgetting the nature of love,
craves money and wealth
and the parents like greedy crows
hovering around holy shrines lie in wait
for golden chances
The professors write cheap notes
and make quick money,
while the intellectuals sell themselves happily
and lend their names to vile antipeople
statements.

Now no student studies medicine
with the aim of serving the distressed.
Now no engineer cherishes any noble goal.
All are direct or indirect agents
of the ruler or the exploiter.
in the villages they lecture on self-reliance,
and on returning to the city
avidly kiss the lips of the donor countries
and suck the blood of their own countrymen.

We have no grief for death
We have no love for birth
There is no remedy today that can stop
our destruction.
Everything we have brings us only the debris
of our deceptions and failures.
Let a true teacher be born here today
Let a true intellectual flourish here today
Let there be a resurrection here of tree poets
and writers.
Today let them lift their proud heads
and sparkle in the darkness
like flashing flashing flashing firearms!

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