It has been a few weeks that
A dirt smudged postcard with bad handwriting
Sitting in his shirt pocket.... more »
When you come from a distant place
And rest your feet in my backyard,
I become happy.... more »
I'll soon be gone, quite alone
And quietly, taking none of you along
On this aimless journey. Useless
To insist, I must leave you all behind.... more »
rom amidst the plundered temple
And the burnt ashes of the homestead
A disinterested voice reaches Sudhangshu -
'Will you go then, in the end?'... more »
I go to a tree and say:
Dear tree, can you give me a poem?
The tree says: If you can pierce
My bark and merge into my marrow,... more »
Like bunches of blood-red Oleander, Like flaming clouds at sunset
Asad's shirt flutters
In the gusty wind, in the limitless blue.
To the brother's spotless shirt... more »
Tagore's timeless poetry and everlasting lyrics.
Kazi Nazrul, the regally maned magnificent man,
rapturous in creation, oh joy.... more »
What shall I do with the spring
when I hear only the cuckoo moaning
and cannot see gorgeous flowers blossom?
What shall I do with the garden
Where no birds ever pays a visit?
Oh, how rough and stony is this earth!
Skeletons of trees stand, row after row,
like so many desolate ghosts.
What shall I do with the love
that places on my head a crown of thorns
and hands out to me the cup of hamlock?
What purpose the road serve
On which no one treads,
Where vendors of coloured ice-cream
Or waves of city-inundating processions
are never seen?