Rahman Henry Poems

I'll decorate my Chriatmas Tree
With heavenly bulbs
Light of every colors
Will glitter from my heart
...

Angling needs a pond
with full of water and fish
Never shoot to miss
...

দাঁড়িও না কবর জুড়ে, কেঁদো না ব্যাকুল ।। Bengalized by Rahman Henry


(Do not stand at my grave and weep
...

Crispy, like melodious romantic songs of some Hondi films, the moon-light are flowing past the bosom of Chaitra; wind is sitting drooping in that far-away field, on the aerial roots of banyan tree, pathetic Gazals of Galib are strolling in the veranda collide with each other; proud drifting moon-beam of this night dim-lights of the night-bulbs took leave. The nightly dusts fly over the clouds; and drooping clouds bend down somewhere at the far end of the field, near the brimming water of swamp...

I could easily see, your sleepless locks of hairs sometimes becomes unruly and then suddenly turns very timid and tame. An indolent curled-up python is lying lazily in her dreamless sleep; let her breath of sudden awakening, take me away to the remote distance, where a pair of birds, are, like black-n-white image flying tireless...
...

তুষারাকীর্ণ বনভূমি ঘেঁষে থামা ।। Bengalized by Rahman Henry

[Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost]
...

Wanted to reach the sky
And touched finally;

Desired to be the sky
...

Look my love, my fugitive queen!

Everyday is a today, and
Every upcoming day is
...

I.


It's me who is the originator of silence; and this night is originated as per my proposal. Even in depression, In my imagination, I can see the clear turquoise and light pushing aside the metallic sphere! Underground is my world, and at a far distant the settlements are, where incresing the number of graves, shurbs of suspicion and the uncertain future; And the accumulation of thick fog that is capable enough to void our sight... surely, there is a hole in the blue sky and the fire well; Maybe they all slept together comet, sea and the necter of moral stories... but its a little earlier, they had been hired a tomb for me and started to whitewash it; and were painting on the walls that flower who opened her petals in the Brojo eve while I asked her name and showed me the technique of hiding scent to reserve for her beloved!
...

Days of suspicion fall down here
None is beyond doubt
Whenever someone speaks of protest
We think it a chicanery
...