Poems of Bangladesh Series 5

Poems of Bangladesh Series 5

RABINDRA GOPE
Fugitive Virgin Snake

Translated and Edited by

Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
 Rabindra Gope's poems and time Rokter Dag in 1987; Palalo Kumari Shap in 1989; Joler Bari Majh Uthoney
in 1990; Ishwarer Nikhoj Songbad, 1998; Mujib Amar Auntorey Bahirey in
As soon as first book poem Palalo Kumari Shap (Runs away Virgin Snake) 1998; Chhagoler Hasi O Ekti Pauruti in 1998; Judhyo Joyer Chhora in
came out in 1979, Rabindra Gope hit the heart of thousands of readers of 1999; Pathorer Chokh in 1999; Nokhotrer Obhishekh in 1999; 30 Lokkho
Bangladesh. He was immediately known as 'Poet of Palalo Kumari Shap' Surjer Kobita and Swetango Indurer Golpo in 2000; Shrestha Kobita and
and gradually became a mature creator of poetry in Bangladesh. His poetry Maer Bhashar Gaan in 2001.
extends illumination to the deapth of dark society. His potry saturate the His volumes of short stories include Poraner Swadhinata in 1986; Swapna
hearts of the readers. His poetry awakens the readers and lead them to truth, O Chander Konkal in 1990; Muktijodhyer Golpo in 1997; Juddha Joyer
beauty and welfare. Golpo in 1997; Rodheen Basati in 1980.
Rabindra Gope is a prolific writer and showed his efficiency in poetry, His novels are Batasey Baruder Gondho in 1985; Ghurni in 1990; Nishidha
novel and short stories. During the last three decades twenty three volumes Swarga in 1997; Naraker Manab in 1997; Nakal Raja, Ek Akasher Nichey
of his poems were so far been published. He was Shabdo Sainik (fighter of and Upanyash Somogro in 2000.
sound) and played a prominent role in the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra Rabindra Gope was awarded Kathashilpi Literary Award: Gold Medal in
(Free Bangla Radio Centre) during the Liberation War of Bangladesh. 1978; Bikash Sahitya Puroshkar in 1990, Sufi Motahar Hossain Literary
Though, predominently a poet, Rabindra Gope also wrote 6 volumes of Award Gold Medal and American Biographical Institute Man of the Year in
short stories, 8 volumes of novels and also a volume of selected novels. He 1998.
still goes on writing at the age of 60. I felt very much honoured when Rabindra Gope requested me to translate
Rabindra Gope's themes of poetry include love, sweetheart, country, nature, fifty of his popular poems.
self and inevitably Liberation War of Bangladesh. Subject-matter of a very
good number of his poems were Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the I hope this translated works will be as popular as his original poems.
Bangabandhu. His great dedication can be seen in these stanzas. Rabindra
Gope showed great hatred towards the wrong-doers. He was very critical Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
about those who performed world’s greatest genocide durion the liberation siddique1946@hotmail.com
war and murderers of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.
As a poet, Rabindra Gope perceives illumination of life from behind all
irregularities and impurities and he writes about illuminating ideas. He
fights against all inaccuricies, errors mistakes and misgivings. He is always
uncompromising to everything impure.
Rabindra Gope was born in Joynagar, Brahmanbaria, in 5 November 1951.
He had his Secondary Certificate examination from K. B. High School in
1967 and Higher Secondary Certificate from Bhairab Hazi Hashmat
College, Kishoreganj in 1969. He had his Bachelor degree in Commerce
from Dhaka University in 1972. He is a peblic servant and held different
senior posts under the Ministry of Information and also of Ministry of
Cultural Affairs.
Rabindra Gope's published works include Poems: Aurakhita Savyota in
1981; Darao Ashchi in 1983; Manush ebong Manush in 1984; Potakae
Contents Kisses on the Trigger
Episode of Dog and Begger
Postman of inertia seek slumber’s site I'm Sorry
Visiting the Pilgrimage of Life Visiting the Pilgrimage of Life
Path of Pain-stricken Life A Poem for Tina
Lying beside hatred Home of Water
Only for You Lying beside hatred
For you Only for You
Blue Kingfisher Confronting Darkness
For me I desire To you
When Falgun Comes I have been missing
War of Freedom Fugitive Virgin Snake
Last Spring of the Century Conflicts of Moon and Clouds
Journey at Dark Night The day that passed by
Blood Stain on the Flag Launching of Star
In The Red Rose of Freedom Rolling Flame of Fire (To Nelson Mandela)
That boy of Joy Bangla Nilanjona
Call to Build Fortress Soap
The blood-drenched Stairs Song of Rising Sun (To Yassir Arafat)
Leaving every darkness behind Orange in the Hospital
New life has arisen Life of an Old Dress
Cry people of Bangla A Goat smiles at a loaf
Last Spring of the Century War of Freedom
Shoe-maker’s Shoe Journey at Dark Night
The Boat caught Wind Blood Stain on the Flag
Eyes of Stone Honey-moon of Full moon
Poetry Of The Thirty Lac Sun How are you Rabindra Gope?
He is Coming For Shimu
Joy Bangla Immortal
Let me hear the twittering Till now I can't sleep
Death Conqueror Tears of Divinity
Nuts In the Cavity of bosom
Plea for being hanged The phrase book of Love
Despots do not Respect Freedom of Language
Get ready (In memory of mother Fazilatunnessa Renu)
Rise up Father
Poem of May Day (For my friends of South Africa)
 Postman of inertia seek slumber’s site
Postman of inertia seek slumber’s site in your eyes
My silent journey to the night’s fatigue goes alone
Dense forest of tresses are the surges of river, parting of hair is a lonely path
In the remote unknown homestead, I’m attracted, faraway, secluded,
Crossing a long way through the cold winter, when I went on walking,
I feel warmth of the summer
From the ocean of eyes, who the girl immersing deep
Took out all alone tiny pieces of my tender desires
Someone’s tinted eyes burn beside my window nightlong.
Someone hugged me with love, though never kept the vow
Still I too called her close and kissed at her chin as youthful lover
Admiring the poems lonely untiring frantic sentry remain sleepless all night
In the moonbeam of Chaitra I hear songs of pale meadow in Krishna’s flute
Calling out in melodious tune, Radha, Radha, I remain awake alone.
Radha, Radha, the bridge is built to the bondage of love, temple of heart
This and that, on both sides you and me visit endlessly
Your seat is made up for you only, I feel scared to build an abode of love
But this path is not the way of death through the parting of hair
Desire is bounded in the powerful hands, Radha, O Radha
Like the parting of hair the path is seen on the clouds
In the stillness of meadow a blue-eyed bird remain awake
A giant piece of stone but a pair of hands emerges
In the great bustle of the city a blue-eyed bird sits alone on poet’s table.
Visiting the Pilgrimage of Life
Soft melodious words of songs shatter down under your feet
Day and night shed down speeches of sleep of the peasant
Salt-scented crop of labour kiss dejected lips of pain-stricken girl
Love of untouched soil attracts close
Green damsel of meadow spreads love to you and me
And beacons at the endless bright light
An unknown baul kindles melodies deep into my heart
I’ve to return again at the endless caves of oblivion and I return
Again and again in the pilgrimage of life this journey goes on alone
Night pass away Madhobi exalts at the celebration of new dawn
Golden desire gradually spreads its roots deep into my bosom
Breaking the gate of night I again proceed in the endless moonbeam
In the celebration of dawn, we wake up, we start to talk
Drenched with nocturnal dew, green crops dance in the morning breeze
With soft footsteps of the peasant, rays of Sun wakes up and dance with joy
We walk all ay to find the soft footsteps of happiness
Green damsel sings of new crop walking along
Golden-faced crop will reach the abode; the day will be filled with hub-bub
In the heart with the full waves of soft melody, I shall to pilgrimage.
 Path of Pain-stricken Life
Can’t you see me? Can’t you see me?
Whenever your eyes scan, wherever you place your hands, there I remain
Garland of past days remain in the memory, deep into my bosom
Liquid melodies of diurnal condensed hurting.
Can’t you memorize looking at the dew-drenched faces of the grass?
Can’t you consider the by-gone days filled with discord, division and dejection?
Deep in heart many flowers of life shred to pieces unnoticed
Pain tortured face of the youth more painful than Crucified Jesus
Offerings of sound is disturbed to life as peremptory precept
Can’t you see me? Can’t you see me?
The poet covering his body with wrapper of dejection
See how the river dances with the sound of waves, the forest is carefree
Shadow of heart encompasses the flows of pensive life.
Can’t you see me? Can’t you see me?
May be you would not utter, may be you wont seek, or shall you speak
May be it’s not me, but someone else who is reciting
When he sees the full moon, utters, O moon, become a witness
When we both will forget the soiled pages of past memories
If only we remember the memories at the colour of the evening
Soundless with pain, you slowly speak out,
Today where are you, speechless lonely statue of stone.
Lying beside hatred
One day in the depth of hole of the flute, waves of my melody
Use to bounce my childhood making great commotion
In the deep dense darkness, touching the sad form of village
The hands of the wind dances alone and go away
Soft jealousy of a few people gradually cools down
Becomes more cold turning to snow, some waves crush down
Tender hearts, drenching with distrust and sleep beside it
I pass my years. Sometimes dense resentments
Take away this flag of progress
The sculpture shatters, sleepless sentinel only remain awake
The vultures of time gnaw down the civilization in savage acts
In the abode of hearts, there’s display of great numbers of canvas
Still I lay unmoved touching the nipple of my mother
Somebody announces in rumbling voice, flowers wake up!
Roses do not die, take up red roses again and again in your hands
Take up the weapons touching the bosom of roses
Wake up, wake up, listen the clouds rumble.
 Only for You For you
Like accumulated memory in the bank of my bosom You belong to me only
All the desires that remain in me are only for y6ou In the belief of love and love alone
Blue rippling waves of the silvery body of Silent River Now I dedicate you to someone else
My love, rose-scented dialogue of afternoon poems To a tree
Echoes of snow-white smiles of the crest of ocean I stoop before it
Pinking colour on the tip of paint-brush are all for you. To a red rose
I kneel down
Waking birds sings in the window-pane of the flowers of dawn To the morning sun
Southern wind moves the yellow curtains I kneel before him
The first kiss of the lips coated with gorgeous rays of the crimson sun To love and
Scented pillows on the soft affectionate night Failure of devotion in my heart
Blue petals of eyes are shut closed in drowsy hours Wretched I remain
Pinkish bed of the heart in the multi-coloured life of the moon I go back, I return.
Golden touch of sinuous handkerchief
Afternoon in the green peak and spring garden are all for you By giving away my love,
Birds of desire are in the prison of gold cage of love I only depend on hatred
Shall remain lifelong till death in the star-clad blue sky Somebody else had robbed of the love.
Everyday in the blood-less sacrifice of massacre of love
I’m sacred butter-oil, sandal wood and songs of holy scripture For you I had in my heart
Forgetting the pain-like stones Boundless love to sacrifice
Counting the waves of silvery river, I remain inert I dreamt touching the sky
Keeping a dark stone of pain in my bosom, in the lifeless darkness. For you I allocated pious love
With my non-miserable hands
For you I preserve
Deep in my heart I touched red roses
And kept with great care
Soft words of poems— Only for you.

You couldn’t understand

The language of the Spring Cuckoo
Creating sentences with
The rippling waves of the rivers
You couldn’t feel
During long life
Who sacrificed the songs of love
 Like the holy scriptures of Beda Blue Kingfisher
To the deity of stone
What pain he bears in his heart?
I wanted a green kingfisher in the entire body of a fish
By giving away my love, now, From the intern bosom if it can take out toxic breath
I only depend on hatred With its sharp beaks
Somebody else had robbed of the love. Kingfisher goes back
The kingfisher did not immerse in the hurting expanse of water
Like a defeated soldiers with weapon in hand and head bowed down Poisonous breath concentrates into the chest again
I contemplate about the destruction of my uncertain future years In the breast of wrath-filled days the treacherous dream
After death, rather, I ponder, Devour shearing of dreamy luxury of life.
I shall again come out of this door Creepers of memory spread out from the heart
Heartless, unforgiving God Pain-stricken wind interweave memory-driven golden dreamy days
If wipe out all the sins since birth I dedicate my prayers to the deity
And takes me up, and offers me to her hands At the lonesome night of the pages of history.
I shall develop a virtuous garden
In my body
In that entire garden
If the red roses bloom
If one day a butterfly
Come flying and return to the
Garden of my bosom.

By giving away my love, now,

I only depend on hatred
Somebody else had robbed of the love.
 For me I desire
For me I desire some stealthy freedom
I want for me one secret box
Where my own sorrows can be stores
Piled up, can be stored in the memory bank.
For me in my eyes, inside my sights
In the darkness of the night, in my own moonlight
I desire liquid happiness
For me I need rippling river shaded with drenched clouds
In the lonely nights I want to swim in the high tides of that river
What else do I want for me
I want to undress the nature
And I want to look into her intently
What else do I need?
Well droplets of dream. Well that everybody wants.
I want for me games of sound and colour
Its trifling, if I don’t have moonlight
But I need the gloom of its stains, without which my desire is partial
Its the moon, that manages the life and death, to it I am captivated.
I want expectation of other person for me
There should be essence of love into this expectation
I need warmth of waterfalls in the rippling waves in the body
I want for me a clandestine cage to captive her into it.
Deliver me
Deliver me in the body of rain
Deliver me with the scent of soil with the dust
Deliver me in the abode of moon
In the rays of the sound of your name.
Deliver me, unite me
With the throbbing of your heart
Deliver me with the nature of Rajanigandha
Deliver me in with the emptiness of your existence
Deliver me with the glass of wine full up to the brim
In the heart of cigarettes, in the gun-powder of the matches
Deliver me in the tea-cup offered in the drowsy eyes
Of your dearly afternoon nap.
Deliver me with your beautiful smile
Deliver me on the crimson dot of your forehead
Deliver me with the rainy water of your shower
And plant my body in the soil of sunbeam.
 When Falgun Comes War of Freedom
With the waves of blood Falgun comes Add up my youth from your life
Creating storm in the body of the alphabets Then you can know my real age
Poverty-stricken clerk Add up my youth with your victory
Writes with his pen. Then you can know about the war of freedom.
Moody bureaucrats
Feel disgraceful in using vernacular language Add me up with your victory
He works a few days in Bangla under pressure Then you will have life
Again he turns to is usual associate language My blood is mixed up with your birth
Deduct my blood
Bangla language hides its face in the parallel lines of pain My youth will be deducted
Then there would be no war of freedom,
With the red-coloured fog-mixed morning like blood Your birth would not be history.
Mother language lights up with spurting out speed
in the bureaus, offices, courts and workplaces Add me up with your life
Files, documents, statements of the layers and Add my father’s thundering roar of invitation
Verdict of the judges. Wear the green sari and on the dawn of your forehead
Break the sleep of the blood-red sun.
As Falgun comes Bangla typists becomes busy
Dusts are wipes out of the typewriters Then the war of freedom will occur,
As if stains on the face of mother Then liberation will take place
Is cleaned by humble child. Now become the flag by putting on sindur
As Falgun comes language-amity grows with the fright of fire I will give you my youth
Directives of using Bangla language were drafted in English You give me love
By the English peddlers. I will give you blood
You give me the War of Liberation.
With the waves of blood Falgun comes in Bangladesh
Valiant children raise protest with the love of Bangla
Youths and adolescences go to processions demanding language
Avenues become scorching declaring business
Helmeted forces burst out is fury with fierce noise
The roads get blood-drenched, the formal grief envelopes.
 Last Spring of the Century
Only our favorite days
Only our desired nights
Disappear like clouds and rain
Vanishes like shivering dews on the leaf of water lily.
Butterflies come and fly away
With teary eyes of youthful love at flowery dawn
On the sea shore of the century like the soft ball
Where the blood-red sun disappears.
Lonely, like painful thread in the memory button
I cover up my open face
Love-farm of your possession
You have promised to breed harvest
By growing love
Days passed by to the last spring day of the century.
Once you told with your bare-feet dipped in alta
Side by side on a dew-wet dawn of Falgun
On the asphalt road we would disappear slowly like the tune
Of sad song beside the grave of martyrs.
Krishnachura of Falgun ornamented the basket of Spring
Last spring dawn of century poured the bottle of alta
In the deep dark black watery inside of you and me
Bugle has started to play the sad tune of sorrow
Only we could not disappear, from dawn to dusk and noon to evening
Side by side, at the dawn of Twenty first.
Journey at Dark Night
The progress of birth-victory realization
Lots of barricade though he will go far
Going alone at the beginning of the journey at dark night
Bringing the Golden morning while walking while talking.
The moment of sunshine only around him
He must reach the far distance
He choose the life of boat,
Gusty winds stormy rains blocking the way
Raising the sail shouting badar, badar splashing away
He must start today the journey to a far distance.
He is ready form his childhood on starting journey
Took off his cloths and gave to others
The homage of sunlight at the dawn of winter
A farmer was in the moon field with naked body
He gave him his own covering cloths.
Gave food to the hungry poor houses
Lighted up the lamp in the midst of darkness
Became the sun by putting away the darkness
Now Mujib is nothing else, but Mujib turns into the sun
The bugle sounds by remembering the name Mujib’
Say Mujib Mujib all in concert Mujib all along
Row the paddle of the boat at the name of Mujib
Set on the sail at the name of Mujib
On the stormy day have to hold the oar with strong hand on his name
Would cross the river by remembering his name.
 Blood Stain on the Flag
I expect for the day
For a long time
For a long time
I keep the memory of a miserable day
Keep in my heart,
I treasure a faithful, handsome brave man in my heart
I couldn’t ever forget in my lifetime
The painful summation of his passing away.
In the dense darkness when with full moon
Will brighten
The streets and ins and outs of heart
When the green forests will be resonant
At the chirping of morning birds
When after a sad night
The red sun of morning will rise
When a bright sun will emerge
After ceasing of a painful night
Can anyone tell that jingling
Of the fastening chains will stop?
Can anyone tell how many nights
The sound of boots will wake up the infant!
Mother’s heart will shiver, the devil will swallow
The cities, ports, human habitations and the country
Hungry stray dogs will enjoy the silent curfew
The shy face of humanity will cry in malicious time.
After how many days, the city streets,
The Shahid Minar, twenty-first February
Will be thronged with bare-feet processions
After how many days?
After how many days people can shout
With their exaltation shall call out
The name ‘Mujib’, ‘Mujib’
Once I dreamt Sheikh Mujib
Then one day in reality, I’ve seen this wistful great man
With great love and gratitude
Then I kept on loving Modhumoti,
Padma, Maghna and Jamuna.
Singing the Vatiali song lift the sail by saying badar, badar.
The boatman thought the boat his existence
Started the family thinking the river his home.
I started loving him.
Loved the fisherman of Padma
Who catches the silver hilsha.
By seeing Sheikh Mujib in his eyes
I fell in love with him,
Fell in love with the blacksmith who against the enemy
makes nails by using the furnace.
I loved the black asphalted highway,
Slogan, procession, writings of the wall
Posters, festoons. Kept loving
The labour of factory,
I loved the farmer, the weaver and day-labourers
Fell in love with the student who shouted Joy Bangla
Into hollow blue death
And fell down while protesting– I love him too.
We have been introduced like this
Met in revolution, mutiny, like the educator and follower.
Met in War of Liberation.
Then in the waves of hundred millions agitated people
How they faced the enemy with tremendous roar
I had seen them.
Never seen the volcanic eruption of Vesuvius,
But – seen you, Mujib.
Your announcement in thundering roar
This struggle is for freedom
This war is for Liberation’
On seventh March at Suhrawardi Uddayan
Started a roaring wave in the sea of people.
I have seen, like earthquake
How the enemies’ heart trembled
Though those trembled enemies
Lift their heads up like turtles.
They thought, if they defy your order
People would say nothing to them, couldn’t say anything,
They ran over tanks on the bosom of the crowd
They shattered the whole of Bangla.
With the bullets from SMG and machinegun.
Burnt down all the green to ashes,
The shady villages of Bangla
Took away the soft baby from mothers’ wombs
Spill blood by charging bayonet on the bosom of the youth.
Blood trickled down in the highway, cities tremor.
Suhrawardi Uddayan became the mountain of dead bodies
Though the people of Bangla did not stop,
Haven’t forgotten you, Bangabandhu Mujib.
One day you got mixed up
With our slogan, your thunderous voice
Your clenched protesting fist
Became assorted with our protest,
Migrated from the suburb an inexperience boy
Has never seen you
Became the eternal sky
After that I could not forget you.
When I have seen you first
In the endless Pacific Ocean
And when I have last seen you
The burning sun in the eternal open sky
Such a great man I had never
Ever seen anywhere.
In the blood struggle of billions of people
On the last day with protesting face
With the bosom as large as Bangladesh
You sacrificed it - Bangabandhu Mujib
Became memorable, unbending with the enemies.
Who knew a crimeless man, who only,
Talked about freedom of people by loving them,
Would be gunned down in a liberated country!
The agents of capitalism
Didn’t stop by drinking the blood of three million,
Didn’t stop their bloody game and
Frantic violent dance of destruction.
They didn’t knew, from the blood of a Mujib
There would born a millions of Mujib in every house
They didn’t knew,
By saying Joy Bangla, Joy Mujib against the enemies
The people will rise again
Highways would be flooded with blood.
Did anyone know their sleep will break by the sounds of boots
Bad dreams will wake up the babies with fright in the middle of night
My mother will cry out at the news of her child’s death,
With their bullets and smashed away by trucks
The death news of students and teachers,
When autocrats devoid of humanity dance with cheer.
At that moment who would say—
‘If another bullet is shot
and if one of my people get murdered?’
The greatest Bangalee of the world would be
Murdered in this way
Could anyone thought about it?
After that swine dances on our heart
Boot nails stabbed our chest
Vulture’s chew our hearts out
And you became our companion forever
Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib, the hero of revolution
The sullen processions of Probhat Ferry.
 In The Red Rose of Freedom
A bizarre darkness surrounded the soil of our chest
The young sun rose by melting the ice of thousand clouds
On the green grass of Suhrawardi Uddayan
History paints its footstep;
We gave blood, Green became more tender
Blood congeal in the midst of green at the journey of time
All thirty lacs blood covered morning sun that rises up together,
Bloomed up the Century’s great leader Bangabandhu Mujib
Friend of sun the blood rose of Liberation.
You became the fiery Krishnachura of Spring
You turned into cuckoo, who sung the song of Liberation
You became the blood red fire in the bosom of rose
That turned into fiery oath of our soul,
You became the song at the sailor’s voice, by uttering Badar, Badar
You turned into sailor of the sky-facing boat
We crossed the sea by your boat.
By wiping out all the grief of a century
You raised the sun after all darkness
The sail gets wind, whispering in the ears
The star birds sang the immortal song
‘This struggle is for our freedom
This struggle is for our liberation.’
Then a day came for the Bangalis
A map is born for the Bangalis
You became the epic of the Bangalis.
That boy of Joy Bangla
That boy, O the boy - the boy from Tungipara.
Strolled alone around the village used to fight like a hero
With great power in his blood stream.
On the bank of snaky river left home at the call of country
Drew the picture with blood from chest and thus the country
Is liberated by us, at his call.
That boy, O the boy - the boy of Joy Bangla.
With bosom full of pride and head high with honor
So we say today the nation is liberated in the world map
We can say with pride we live happily in this world.
That boy, O the boy - the boy from Tungipara
Where has he gone in these happy days,
We try to find, but can never see
Where has he gone, that boy is vanished.
We cherish your memory in our heart,
We keep in mind the memories today
Where did he built his abode, in which address
We only hope he will be back.
That boy, O the boy- the boy is country’s friend
Spoke out freedom all day
Played all around under the sky and wind
That boy, O the boy– the boy of Joy Bangla.
 Call to Build Fortress
Tra tra drim drim! Tra tra drim …!
When foot moves, mind doesn’t and foot doesn’t when mind moves on
Falgun bloom like fiery fire in the green of Bangla
In red blood, comes the call to built fortress
The valiant freedom giver Mujib’s call is heard
Father of the Nation calls for Liberation
Crimson Sun with blood shines on the forehead of green mother
On that day the nation’s flag lits up in the burning sun
The flag flew in the whole sky sacrificing blood of a million lives.
Tra tra dhrim dhrim! Tra tra dhrim …!
Village cowboy did not go to the fields with plough on his shoulder
Fields filled with golden paddy but farmers did not go to there with sickle
In markets, docks, cities, ports allover the cruel Pakistani looters abound
The golden Bangla has been demolished with funeral fire.
Drunk the blood of brothers, took the virginity of sisters
Left right, left right, the boots hurt the mother’s chest
Foxes, vultures and dogs altogether they are brothers
With them the Rajakars of Bangla get shelter on that day.
Took shower with brothers blood, feasted with sisters flesh
Everyday they emptied the fire burnt Bangla
Though the freedom fighter guerrilla soldiers
Jumped upon the enemy out-posts
The blood painted sun is visible corpses floated on Padma and Meghna
The burning stories of Bangla’s bravery of those days are still remembered.
The blood-drenched Stairs
All around us there are scattered blood,
Wailing of so many widows and the parents
Hungry people cry all the night, sleepless
In the middle of the night the heart breaks down.
With pleasant silence of the night on bank of a lake,
Young leaves shiver in sorrow suppressing pains in their heart
Bakul flowers fall down leaving the tree.
To get your pleasant company full moon
Wraps your body like snow-white panjabi.
You walk away silently all alone
Scattering the moist love of the shiuli flower
Beside you is the dais of number thirty-two
Stage of freedom of Bangla blooms like rose
In shadow of shining star.
Slowly you pass away
Sobbing of green field of crops is heard
You are still crying, O father, watching the pain of the farmers
Do you really feel pain! Your lonely journey without us.
In the depth of your bosom of fifty six thousand kilometer
Still cry the idol of absorption in silent
We cannot sleep with your blood-spattered memories in our heart.
Both of your hands are spaded wide,
In front of us like ever lasting sun rises,
With the fluttering of a band of pigeons flies the flag of peace.
Remembrance of the cruel days the brutal attack of the dictator,
within our soul burns the flame of our tears
Like an arrow pierces the bird,
The bloody stairs of thirty-two number house
Has spread all over Bangla.
Suddenly flying pigeon is hit by bullet and drops down from the sky.
Like the way the meteor falls into the land.
Father! The burning flame of life that you have lit
Has shown us the path, in which
We are marching towards the victory.
Your brightened face in front of burning flame is awake
In every one’s dream of the people of Bangla. O you immortal?
Leaving every darkness behind
Leaving all the darkness behind, the star that brightens the sky,
I have looked for you there, Mujib.
You collected our dreams in the farms of stars,
We are loveless and homeless birds today.
Flowers doesn’t bloom in the garden, butterfly cry alone
Spring-awakening birds wail, Madhumoti also cry
The map that you yourself drew is flooded with blood.
Dreamy freedom also is drenched in blood.
Farmers, labors and hard working people cry,
The flags are flying half-mast in their souls, cry mothers and sisters.
You twinkle as the brightest star in the sky.
We know that the dark red rose bloomed in the heart.
The name is everlasting in every heart of the Bangalees – is Mujib.
How dare could any one try to wipe out the name from everyone’s heart.
Endlessly, Bullets after bullets are fired
Cannot keep the eyes open
The smell of the gun powder make the winds mad.
Everywhere the Pakistani Hyenas are running.
Birds are deaf and are devoid of harmony, cannot sing any song.
Only the Rajakar don’t want the freedom to come.
Bangabanghu is one of the greatest men in the whole world,
He knew that the those demons will bow down their head one day.
Bangabandhu was in the first floor,
Slowly he descended the stairs,
His confidence was higher like the Himalaya and undefeating,
He can never be compromised.
Bangabandhu cried out loudly, ‘Stop firing’.
They were afraid of his voice. Their firing stopped.
Bangabandhu understood that they were coming to arrest him,
Pak major came forward.
He lightened up his favorite pipe,
The smokes form the faces of common people of Bangla,
Decaying body of the farmers
Fire comes down from the sky dream broke down.
In spite of that he cannot stop. Surrender! Oh, no.
With confidence he steeped towards the waiting jeep
And told them, let’s go! Where do I have to go?
This is how he made a passage towards a dark shattered path
For his motherland, freedom and his loving people.
But Khoka doesn’t returns.
Khoka’s rudely wounded body returns.
Padma calls Khoka to come back to it’s bloody bosom.
Meghna calls Khoka to come back to it’s bloody bosom.
Jamuna calls Khoka to come back to it’s bloody bosom.
Modhumoti calls Khoka to come back to it’s bloody bosom.
Mother, how much Khoka’s blood will drench your bosom.
Mother, now you become Joy Bangla, now you become Sonar Bangla.

Darkness of the night jumps of the Mohumoti water like a snake, Pakistan forces captivated the Mujib family – Mrs. Mujib, two daughters,
Pathetic cry within the strong wind. Sheikh Hasina, Sheikh Rehana, and Rasel in their house at Dhanmondi.
Somebody calls from the fog, is it my mother calling? Sheikh Kamal and Sheikh Jamal ran away to save their Bangla.
There isn’t any sleep in my mother’s eyes. They fight with pride to set free their beloved nation Bangla..
Every countryman remembers their success. Bangabandhu,
Come back, my Khoka, The father of the nation took imprison with blood.
I have prepared rice with milk for you. The nation will never forget him.
Khoka thinks there is so much to do for his motherland.
For true sense he has to build up a golden Bangla.
Smiles has to be back to those widowed sister,
Then he can return.
Does Khoka knew that after taking so much blood
They would not stop.
Khoka works to build up his country.
Khoka want democracy, socialism, nationalism,
Which they could not tolerate peoples’ progress.

Khoka does not understand all these;

He wants a sky that will sprinkle full moon with glittering stars
In the soft sky, they are against beauty, they doesn’t care about all that,
They are dictators; they make the golden history go pale in dust.

They make the history pages smudged with blood,

They make fun out of Khoka’s dead body.
Mother sits besides the open door,
Waiting for her khoka to come back home
 New life has arisen
With the glittering flame of revolution, the greatest leader
Mujib has returned to his own country.
After a suffering ordeal of hell for long
He is retuning as a hero
The ebbed river gets the surge; the doors will surly open,
Now the boatman sings a song.
Twenty three years of pain and hardship, river is flooded,
Now new life has emerged.
Apply your oar boatman and sail to north and to south,
Sail to east and to west.
Takenuf to Tetulia, Tungipara to thirty two number
Wind is blowing the sail.
The people has gathered together, now only advance farther.
Go on rowing brother.
Strongly go on rowing calling out
‘Bodor Bodor. La Ilaha Illal-lah.’
Row in the name of Krishna,
In the name of Jesus, Kali and Buddha’s name
Go on rowing in the North to south, sail to east and west.
The wind is blowing in the river and on the boat,
Wind is blowing in mind.
Flowers are blooming in the forests.
Every one is waking up—
The farmer, blacksmith, weaver all together.
By the name of Bangabandhu
Go on rowing the boat strongly brother.
Cry people of Bangla
Cry the people of Bangla cry
If you are a Bangali then come silently, much closer
If you are a freedom loving person
Then stand here with you head bent down
You can hear the song of freedom in the wind
Here is lying in eternal light
And the stars the father of the nation Bangabandhu Seikh Mujibur Rahman
In the bee’s noise bird’s song there played a sad tune
In the deep jungle with the sweet smell of flowers
Who is going like a shadow?
Silently leaving the darkness behind
Very slowly deep into the light
Don’t let any of the flower’s leaves does not shivered by
The steeping of the feet
Blood, Blood! and Only Blood!
The freedom is gained after so many blood shades
Here is sleeping, stand here with respect
Like a shadow with in the light
Here is sleeping the father
Here is sleeping the brother
Here is the Mother
Here is the Child.
Mother’s golden anchal of her sari is like the blood-soaked half-mast flag
Side by side Rokto Joba, Krisnochura, Golap, Maloti and Jui
Like the crying dewdrops of the spring they are lying
Like the sleeping Sheuli flower the world’s greatest children
This proud home lands pride birth here is sleeping the untamed sea
is calm because of so many blood shades.
 This soil smell is scattered with the bravery.
The blue sky is standing with painful cry, shadow of sorrow ness the
darkness is covered, the wind is crying.
Cry, people of Bangla, cry.
Every morning comes here with their head bend down in respect. In the
bloody lightning they give away their respect with flower in their hand.
Shoe-maker’s Shoe
With thousand pains of stitches in the chest cry the shoemaker’s shoe
Though, the shoemaker gives a new pair to the Englishman’s feet
Englishman’s feet were blood-red with white coloured skin
Its certainly beautiful, like the shiny sun at the snow-covered mountain
A pin pricks the foot, intolerable was the feelings of pain
Foot cries out with pain, Englishman’s shoes
Were brushed and painted with cream and polish.
Shoemaker’s shoe thinks, O! How shiny is Englishman’s shoes
If life would be like this
How laborious it is for the owner to polish other’s shoes
His ripped up body has never been polished once
Only the stitches of torn-out leather continues
Only sound of hammering the nails in hollow chest
Sound of hammer echoes like the sorrowful song.
Many different sizes of feet gets in the shoemaker’s torn-up shoes
Ah! The prostitute’s life cries out with pain
The acts of prostitution continues with all the clients
After all it lay down beside the footpath at the shoemaker’s den
The moon laughs at the broken window,
Shoe thinks, if the moon laughs at its misery
Shoe wipes out its body with its own sweat
Wrinkles became clearer on the ragged-up body.
After a while it notices the injuries on the moon’s bosom
Shoe laughs out loud, the wave of sea laugh with joy
Shoemaker’s den become the dreamy garden,
At once butterfly comes at the flowery scent
Madly folk wind passes by at the scent of burning incense
Moonlight melts down at the den, shoemaker’s shoe goes to sleep.
 The Boat caught Wind Eyes of Stone

The river of ebb-tide gets high tide One eye is of stone and the other is of star
The door is going to be open Only the rain drops, only the rain drops
Now sailor sings the song The red wrapper of the star is flying in the wind
The river is overflowed Flower of stone blooms in one eye
Fifteen years in pain and sorrow In one eye oversight of star increases.
Now wakes up the life.
Row the boat, sailor, row it hard Wrong words stands side by side at the door
Row to south, row to north The shadow of life searches in the dark
Row to the East and to the West Decaying stone makes me cry
From Teknuf to Tetulia An untimely flower shade makes me cry
From Tungipara to road number thirty two Falling star makes me cry
The sail caught the wind now move ahead move ahead. Burning beauty stands face to face.
High tide awakened the human crowd
Go ahead companions now go with full strength You only build the bridges in the skies
Shout to the extreme in the name of Allah Cook the rice of stone in the wind of fire
Call out ‘La Ilaha Illa Allah’ On the bed decorated with leaf and flower
In the name of Ramakrishna, Jesus, Kali and Buddha The poet goes on to the eternal journey, who cries out like that.
Drive to the North, drive to the South Bind your life with the words in fire of sorrow.
Drive to East and to the West.
The boat caught the wind in the river
The wind touched the thoughts of mind
Flowers bloomed in the forests
Wake up farmer, potter, blacksmith, weaver, and fisherman, all together
Now row your boat, companion; row it very hard.
 Poetry Of The Thirty Lac Sun
An amazing darkness was surrounding our land area of chest
The young sun has rise by melting the ice of thousand clouds
On the green grass of ‘Sarahwardi Uddayan’
History paints its footstep;
We gave blood, Green became tenderer
Blood clouted in the midst of green at the journey of time
All thirty lac blood covered morning sun rises up together,
Bloomed up the century’s super hero ‘Bangabandhu Mujib’
Friend of sun the blood rose of liberation.
You became the fiery mohur of spring
You turned into cuckoo who sung the song of liberation
You became the blood red fire in the chest of rose
That turned into fiery oath of our soul,
You became the song at the sailor’s voice, by uttering ‘Badar badar’
You turned into sailor of the sky facing sail boat
We crossed the sea by your boat.
By wiping out all the grief of a century
You raised the sun after all darkness
The sail got wind, whispering in the ear
The star birds sang the immortal song
‘This struggle is for our freedom
This struggle is for our liberation.’
Then a day came for the Bangalies
A map born for the Bangalies
You became the novel of the Bangalies.
He is Coming
He is coming, the bell of the hell is ringing
He is to be the best citizen of this country
The master of hell, rising filthy pest
Getting prepared for him, the tigers, bears, elephants
Horses an, monkeys of the jungle.
He has the charm of heaven on his forehead
Doglike tail at his back and horn on his head
Whispering sound is heard
With the wing in the trembling wind
He is coming with a wavy-river full of blood.
He has the memories of woman in his nails
Memorable polish of blood on the soft bosom
With him shining ruthless co-workers in gang
Shaking the sky dressed up with the crescent and star flag
He is coming, the master of hell
In the blood water of thirty lacs sun
After a pious bath!
The rapist of thousands and millions of sisters
Father of the embryos of the biranganas ruined dream
Rippling poison in the bloomed flower on the martyrs’ blood
He is descending from the garden of stars
He will be received with the garland by the so-called silvery deity
He is the slave of the slaves, emperor of the Hell
He is coming.
 Joy Bangla
On some nights I see my father in my dreams
Walking though the deep dark, walking quite a long distance
Monsters come up with their naked claws, blocks the way
He says, Joy Bangla- wishing victory for Bangla
They run away with fear they hide away
They goes back to their hideouts in midst of darkness.
In my deepest dream I see the holy face
In front of me like the Rajanigandha flower
From the depth of darkness the face
Of my father appears like the sun
I also utter Joy Bangla in my holy dream then
At that moment Bangladesh wakes up.
A several Lac boatman row the paddles
By setting the sails saying Badar, Badar sprinkles water in the hull.
All the boats floating away fast to the eternal journey
Far away crossing the rivers Padma, Maghna
To the end line of Bangla.
From the eternity of dark the spell of freedom
Enunciates ‘Joy Bangla’, victory of Bangla
The blessings of the father’s holy sprit is like the rose petals
Showering over the whole world
Making the soil sweet-scented.
On some nights I see my father in my dream
He comes down by the moonlit flooded stairs
Again goes back seeing the shattered Bangla
By watching the invisible shadow of silent assassin
He becomes distress.
Sometime I get up from my sleep
Martyrs blood wet highway calls me
Sometime I dream of my father
I can hear – ‘If there would another bullet shots…
and if another people of mine dies’…….
Then pain of my heart increases
The memorable days of my index finger on the trigger recalls.
Let me hear the twittering
Can hear the sound of crying whenever the eyes get shut
May be some baby or mother or the beloved of some solders
Someone is crying, I can not sleep at night
Like kissing the beloved one on favorite night
Let me sleep
Beside the window a pair of Shalik on the branch of Dalim tree
Singing, they love each other
Let me hear the chirping.
Don’t you ever through them away don’t break their love
Then you would be cursed:
Your wives will bear no child.
I have seen the birds playing at the see shore
Those who has burnt them in the oily flame
Their children will die of rice will die of water
Don’t kill the beautiful snow-white ducklings of mine
I will curse you
From my flower decorated garden
Not a single flower petal should fall untimely.
Take back your fighter planes from my sky
Put away all flying mines from my ether
Take back your ‘skuds’
Take away your ‘patriots’
Put away all the firearms from the heart of my soil.
Give me my favorite moonlit nights
Give me my chirping charming dawns
Let me sleep on the lap of my beloved
I would not tolerate any fatherless child’s cry
I would not accept any young-death of birds.
 Death Conqueror You are my farm of words
Whatever I got from you fulfilled my life
O! The beautiful conqueror of death by remembering you Overflowing sea topsy-turvy
We put away our deepest darkness Whatever earned is your love form heart
Here and there who swings in the bosom My golden Bangla filled up with
The old lady with spinning wheel recite poems in moonlit night Your victorious flower necklace.
Who come and go in the eyes in the songs
Waves play in the dry shore of bizarre mind. Your name is spread worldwide
Worthless me living on your name
Who come and go like this and touches the gloomy heart Woken up humanity of truth equity and love
In the little life of sadness and happiness O! the beautiful conqueror of death you are my freedom.
Wake the life up by rubbing fire Yours name is Modhumoti yours is Padma, Jamuna
Feel comfortable to play with fire Lac of life shaded blood for freedom is only in your name
Refreshes the life in fire Yours name is world winner freedom giver of humanity
Rise up the falgun with fiery fire O! The beautiful conqueror of death
On the birthday of mother Bangla. You are the father of the nation of Bangalis.

You are the bright picture of poet

The name Mujib has spread worldwide
In paddy fields in farmer’s stockroom
In hammers shovels in the sweat of daily labours
In every sunny bright dawn.

In the scent of flower in the cuckoo’s chirp on the beginning of spring

In the wild wind with flying disheveled hair
In peepul tree.
You are not only with in me
In the sky air sea-water
Restless youth in madness of tunes
Sing around at your name
The full moon stays awake alone.

In the tune of flute village cowboy

Sing around at your name.
You are not the only you
The father of the nation you are all around the world
You are of the farmers in the golden paddy fields
 Nuts
I was bowed down in the darkness of time
On your palm, like a nut
For a long time, when your plough swayed
On the back of the cow, named democracy
At all times you crushed under your teeth
Like peeled nuts, felt the tastes of crimson coloured
Fresh blood, unmindfully, you wiped your mouth
On your free flowing end of sari. You didn't think,
How would you concele blood-drenched sari,
Plea for being hanged
Blood-filled time sand and foam of the sea shore
And the decomposed corpse and caracas of the stars
A poet shall write a poem
With whom the trees exchange dialogue
The birds do not go to sleep without speaking to him
The rivers remain still a few moments
It is inevitable that the poet should write poems.
For whose scribblings, the Sun allocate rays
For whose scribblings, the avenues are decorated with processions
For whose scribblings, Nur Hossains write
The epics of democracy by sacrificing blood
It is inevitable that the poet should write poems
Is it a crime to write poems
Shall a poet be punished for writing poems?
Shall a poet hide like a criminal facing growl of weapons
For only writing poems?
Shall a poet be sent to exile for writing poems?
Yes, he have to, autocrats do not tolerate poets.
Despots can not feel the pains and delights of the trees
Despots do not understand chirping of the pensive birds
Do not look at the dew-laden leaves of the dawn
Golden blankets of the sodden sunlight
How the dreamy crimson lights of the horizon
Descend gradully on the earth
He does not gaze at the dance of the pea-cock
They are not aware of the melodies of Purabi of the souls of the poetry.
 Despots do not Respect Freedom of Language
The hands of despots do not tremble chooping don green trees
Despot's heart do not ache shooting down the birds
How does despot feel the wailing of the hungry poet?
Despot can not stop the flows of the river
Can not even stop the waves of sounds
A dam can not control the turbulant ocean
Similarly a poet do not yield to any hindrance
A despot can not stop the tumultuous currents
Of the expressions of the poets.
Can not cover the bright dazzling rays of the morning Sun
Despot can not wipe out the sights of flying birds
Despots can not know how to listen crirping of the birds
Despots do not feel the joy of sounds
Despots do not realize love, affections anf fondness of reverie
He can not feel the psyche of the sky.
Shall have to come in creamy Sunlit day
Poets do not die, poet's death is but a glorious farewell celebration
Before departing, I will bathe once in the silvery light of eyes of
Then I will accept your death sentence bowing my head
But my noose will be hung on shade of the branch of devdaru tree
On the stream of endless cloud
Of fragrant long hairs of my beloved
Stretched to the horizon
I will leave staring at the stars of her silvery eyes
I will pass steping on the sleek path of her long flowing hairs
From the mist of sound to the eternal journey through the depth of the rain
Hang my on the nooze, I will accept
I suffer a lot looking the face of my starving youngster.

We are emerged into the sea of blood I know swimming

But how long the nation will bleed
He will dreanch into blood, that's all
When we go to sleep, our starving children lay on blood-drenched bed
Senceless mother ly with the grief of her dried tits
Ruined youthfullnes peek at the mature life
I shall write poems on the deep hidden memory of midnight,
Without giving up to defeat.

Nerves will eat up my tongue, let it be

Beautiful vultures can cover up the las scene in darkness
Can tear out my heart breaking open door of my breast ˆ
I will sew a shoe out of the skin of my back
I may be hanged, let it be
I suffer a lot looking the face of my starving youngster, my beloved
Despots can issue order to kill the poet.
Poet do not fear death
Death is the last chapter of life
But the death sould come after bathing in moonlight
 Grenades of my poems will brust
Get ready Against the murderers and hangmen
(In memory of mother Fazilatunnessa Renu) ]Stengun of my poems will shout
The poets were ready with stengun on your shoulder
People are dashing to the sky, to Marse with the dream of Moon Left Right Left Right
Light is spreading in the abyss of light amd shade The poets will go against the enemy
Inhabitants are dancing drinking blood of human beings Pablo Neruda is advancing ahead of us in the front rows
The time is hanging beside the skeleton of civilization He is the forebearer
In my bosom river of fire breaks down the embankments Lorka will operate machinegun
Human beings are captivated to the primitive society of stone Stengun of Myakovosky will growl
Nazil Hikmat's finger is on his own pistol
Weapons are traded with faces Aragon, Elluar is commanding the battle
Human beings faced with ferosity of animals All the poets are united against murder
Modern deveplopment- rockets instead of stone All the poets are united against murder
Human civilization knock flames with fire All the poets are sound soldiers
Ahalya, the rock mother, Dravid youth has come to save her
Baishakh wind will wipe away leaves of old memories Those whose poems were rusted
Again we, in the welfare of human beings, Are making their poems dazzle
Decorate the barrels of the cannons with garlands of roses Poems villages are making preparation
Friends prepare in your homes All the great poets will be meeting me
Take a vow of fire with the memories of blood With their instructions
We want trial of all murders We will built fortresses of poems
In each houses, each homes.
Friends, come, let us try killings of our brothers
Friends, come, let us try killing of our mother
Today my poems want only to growl like a cannon
My poems are Molotov Cocktail
Pull out its pin and hurl to the bunkers of the enemies

The poet has to come forward

To face any tupe of terrorism
There are no difference between hammers, Shovel, Sicke and pens
It is not the time to attract closer
By reciting lovable softer words of the poems.
The blossoming time of the fragrant evening is only memory.
Now gun-powders should have to be spread with sounds
Sprinkle hatred on the face of antagonists of poems
 Rise up Father Poem of May Day
(For my friends of South Africa)
Your Bangla is unprotected, this days
Vultures of Seventyone want to tear up the Longings of golden dreams Black may he be, Cuckoo
Tear up the flag earned in exchange of a ocean of blood He belongs to my group
tear up red roses of fifty six thousand square miles There's light inside darkness
Melodies that enchants our mind
One single hand rises from the soil of Bangla Melodies enthralls the world, the time.
Touched the smiling face of a dazzling star passing the Universe
Whose name comes before the name of the Nation spread over the world In the festivity of Spring
The great man freedom-giver father Fascinates with the game of songs
Sleeps on this soil Anklets jingle in the daytime
Like dew-drenched Sheuli. My mind escapes somewhere I know not.

All the valiant man is my father
All the courageous women are my mother
Every child is my brother
They are chaste as snow.
My brother Russel was born ion this soil
Whose pain cries Madhumati, Baigar River
Laments dove of the secluded noon
Cries the hears of fiery flowers of Shimul
Pathetic Cuckoo of the Spring, as is a half-mast flag of my heart.
Nobody knows how I pass my time lonely
Morning and afternoon, night turns deep
It calls out - Wake, wake up
One Cuckoo calls out at the festivity of May Day
Calls out, Those who are asleep
Wake now, hold up your shovel in strong hand
THose who are black in my group
Black are those labours, farmers
Black are those, weavers and blacksmith, strike hammer
Break down the palaces of the whites
Its time to kill them all drenching in the ocean of blood.

The palaces of those built with your blood

Tell them to move away
We are all awake, the black cuckoos
There's call of May Day, at this Glorious Day
Black are those, take up weapons, Unite.
 Kisses on the Trigger
I've made slippers with my own skin
And walked a long way
I don't know how long way I've to go
I've spent only forty years from my life
And added pains, sufferings, bloodshed, desertation
My memories are hanging from the pole of antenna
Artistic designs of afternoon on dejected handkerchief
Morning lips fills with satisfied happiness
First kiss on the trigger unending swim on the timeless ocean of blood
Heart aches at the sufferings of the martyrs
Tiredness doesn't suit on the steps of Sun
Go, return to your ultimate destination
Everyone writes his own history with his own blood
And sacrifices his own breast
Newly bloomed flower of crimson Sun on green field
All the barriers will be shattered with the exaltation of happiness.
Episode of Dog and Begger
They were habituated, the dogs and beggers, on the leftovers
They eat and pass their times in company, they roam about together
Piles of swippings by the roadside
These were the source of heat
The way the dog cubs are born
Begger children are born in the same way
They both do not have any place of birth
Many are so haughtily that they don't think them human beings
But I still think them human beings.
They do not have lofty ideas
When some spread their wings of dream in the sky
These people seek their dreams in the dumping ground
They help others to accumulate their wealth
They do not learn the procedure of murder
They are treated as non-dangerous but lowly animals
But I do not believe
They are more degraded than the dogs
I do not acknowledge.
Dogs will sleep on the divan in stone palaces
They turn disinterested in meats after eating it continuously
But people-dogs pray for a piece of bread
Only for a piece of bread
They will pray from door to door
How could I accept that
How could I?
I do not hate dogs
If they are not there who will protect the lords.
 I'm Sorry Visiting the Pilgrimage of Life
If you have felt hurt with my behaviour Soft melodious words of songs shatter down under your feet
And throwing salt on my bruise Day and night shed down speeches of sleep of the peasant
Oh, your hands will become bitter Salt-scented crop of labour kiss dejected lips of pain-stricken girl
Look, clean your hands thoroughly Love of untouched soil attracts close
You are honourable, the bitter tastes on your hands do not suit you
Besides somebody will want to taste Green damsel of meadow spreads love to you and me
The sweetness on your hand while kissing And beacons at the endless bright light
An unknown baul kindles melodies deep into my heart
I am sorry if you are hurt I've to return again at the endless caves of oblivion and I return
Do not care a straw for me
We have skins on our body Again and again in the pilgrimage of life this journey goes on alone
So you have bought the whips with so much price Night pass away Madhobi exalts at the celebration of new dawn
Take my skin, skin of a poet Golden desire gradually spreads its roots deep into my bosom
You can walk happily wearing Breaking the gate of night I again proceed in the endless moonbeam
The shoes made out of it. In the celebration of dawn, we wake up, we start to talk

Drenched with nocturnal dew, green crops dance in the morning breeze
With soft footsteps of the peasant, rays of Sun wakes up and dance with joy
We walk all ay to find the soft footsteps of happiness
Green damsel sings of new crop walking along
Golden-faced crop will reach the abode; with hub-bub
In the heart with the full waves of soft melody, I shall to pilgrimage.
 A Poem for Tina Home of Water
I had some desire I had something to say Desired liberal life, desired bluish caress
I had something to get like a pair of eyes like Tina The sky had dark body.
Like the blue of the sky, like the waves of the ocean The coulds were intoxicated
Bosom-full of happiness was due for me, I had some dreams. Now covered my face
The sky desired happiness.
I craved for a garden of contentment Desolute market desire commodities
I could get a smiling face loke bright-red flower Fortunate king's game is full of dream-desire
In my dream, in my contemplation those I was due When the deay wane it turns crimson
I had dreams like Tina have The Roses starts to wither
I had some devotion like Tina's. Its corpse stays in the vase
Are cremated, trembloes the bosom.
I will not count command of the gardener only for a flower
Shall not the sea give me happiness, break down the stone? Worn-ou time is dead deer covered with gold
Nobody addresses the flower with a name No matter how much it is dear, it is still dead
The gardener do not observe the lustre of the flowers-filled garden The cloud didn't give me bluish carress any more
And if I adorn me with scent in my trip, the gardeners will not know. The storm lashes, the clouds dance
Crops of my heart were exhausted, she never came\
The garden of my heart emptied.

I didn't like looking at the sky

The stars died, I will cultivate flowers on its grave
The abode of the water is in the courtyard
The stars are my grave.
 Lying beside hatred
One day in the depth of hole of the flute, waves of my melody
Use to bounce my childhood making great commotion
In the deep dense darkness, touching the sad form of village
The hands of the wind dances alone and go away
Soft jealousy of a few people gradually cools down
Becomes more cold turning to snow, some waves crush down
Tender hearts, drenching with distrust and sleep beside it
I pass my years. Sometimes dense resentments
Take away this flag of progress
The sculpture shatters, sleepless sentinel only remain awake
The vultures of time gnaw down the civilization in savage acts
In the abode of hearts, there's display of great numbers of canvas
Still I lay unmoved touching the nipple of my mother
Somebody announces in rumbling voice, flowers wake up!
Roses do not die, take up red roses again and again in your hands
Take up the weapons touching the bosom of roses
Wake up, wake up, listen the clouds rumble.
Only for You
Like accumulated memory in the bank of my bosom
All the desires that remain in me are only for you
Blue rippling waves of the silvery body of Silent River
My love, rose-scented dialogue of afternoon poems
Echoes of snow-white smiles of the crest of ocean
Pinking colour on the tip of paint-brush are all for you.
Waking birds sings in the window-pane of the flowers of dawn
Southern wind moves the yellow curtains
The first kiss of the lips coated with gorgeous rays of the crimson sun
Scented pillows on the soft affectionate night
Blue petals of eyes are shut closed in drowsy hours
Pinkish bed of the heart in the multi-coloured life of the moon
Golden touch of sinuous handkerchief
Afternoon in the green peak and spring garden are all for you
Birds of desire are in the prison of gold cage of love
Star-clad blue sky shall remain lifelong till death
Everyday in the blood-less sacrifice of massacre of love
I'm sacred butteroil, sandal wood and recitations of holy scripture
Forgetting the stone-like pain
Keeping the cataracts of grey hills. or
Counting the waves of Silvery River I remain inert
Keeping a dark stone of pain in my bosom, in the lifeless darkness.
 Confronting Darkness To you
Leaping over the barbed wire I saw you once You belong to me only
And learned your story of surrender to light, In the belief of love and love alone
Grasping the darkness, how long you’ll surrender life to sleep Now I dedicate you to someone else
With accumulation of sufferings you’re becoming old, To a tree
Does anybody know time of youe sleep? I stoop before it
To a red rose
I prepare to fight against darkness . . . I kneel down
With thundreour sound of bomb I have to wake you up. To the morning sun
I kneel before him
I want to see, only once To love and
Waking up of you all on a sudden . . . Failure of devotion in my heart
Rammaging your museum I’ll wipe out all your memory Wretched I remain
I’ll decorate you aagain in a newer form, I go back, I return.
I will wake you up in the festival of light on the colour of youthfulness.
By giving away my love,
From the star-enriched empire, which pirate took you up I only depend on hatred
And smeared on your face and eyes inabriation of dejected Somebody else had robbed of the love.
slumber!
I will face that bandit . . . For you I had in my heart
Boundless love to sacrifice
With great enthusiasm of winning the battle I, a feral lover of grenade I dreamt touching the sky
Shall wake you up, and plant on your bosom talisman of youthfulness. For you I allocated pious love
With my non-miserable hands
For you I preserve
Deep in my heart I touched red roses
And kept with great care
Soft words of poems- Only for you.

You couldn't understand

The language of the Spring Cuckoo
Creating sentences with
The rippling waves of the rivers
You couldn't feel
During long life
Who sacrificed the songs of love
 Like the holy scriptures of Beda I have been missing
To the deity of stone
What pain he bears in his heart? I have been missing gradually
From the records of memory
By giving away my love, now, From the afternoon of charming love
I only depend on hatred Missing as if a tress of rain
Somebody else had robbed of the love. From the heart of the cloud.

Like a defeated soldiers with weapon in hand and head bowed down Soft taste of the lips with lots of kisses
I contemplate about the destruction of my uncertain future years Somebody is taking out
After death, rather, I ponder, Gradually from my body scents of my boyhood
I shall again come out of this door Warmth of my youth are taken out stealthily
Heartless, unforgiving God Taking out me from all my desires
If wipe out all the sins since birth And from all my scenario.
And takes me up, and offers me to her hands
Grasping all the golden crops
I shall develop a virtuous garden From the harvest of my inner tender field
In my body I am now missing gradually
In that entire garden From the caring sounds of my melody
If the red roses bloom From green cool shades
If one day a butterfly From bright sunshine
Come flying and return to the I am going to be absent gradually
Garden of my bosom. Of the birds in the nest of the early morning
Shall return after the whole day of busy bustle work
By giving away my love, now, I am going to be absent gradually, I am going to be missing.
I only depend on hatred
Somebody else had robbed of the love.
 Fugitive Virgin Snake
Open you yellowish bosom, I want to see
Where I have touched you, where my love
Flows on like aa turbulent river in the folds of your body
Open the gates of your heart let me see where my
Figure hides in the courtyards of your bosom
With distracted footsteps who has snapped in the heart and escaped.
Can anybody except any sex-striken man tell
Cultivation be done kissing the flesh of yellowish bosom
Meditative yogi remain awake whole night to sow the seeds
Like holy scripture shall recite poems placing hand on the bosom
Can anybody tell whetherby getting you at the price of love
Shall make you dance as my wish in the decorated room of a hotel.
Conflicts of Moon and Clouds
The clouds devoured the moonbeams of the full-moon
And swiftly darted towards the North
The body of hapless moon is fever-striken, tired
At one time the gang of clouds came and gaged him
And dropped him in the deark ocean.
The clouds wore sari, adorned with jewellery
And then rode the horses- ting-ling, ting-ling.
The clerk died of brute force and
The poets took it up- in their writing books
The journalists prepared the reoprs summung it in inches.

A tired man shall sleep at the cradel of earth

After painting a messy picture with your youthfulness.
Handful of pain-striken flesh on the body of time
Gather gradually, Pouring down the unbearable pain of venom
All over the body, the meditation, the scenarion, the melody and
All over the songs fled away virgin snake by snapping.

Turning her gorgeous maiden neck laughed with exaltation

It is fearful to come closer with love, lest with snapping gesture
Pains of vemon is forgetten on the soft night of love by
Dejected persons listening to pensive melody whole night
From the window peeps moonlit night, the sky stoops down
On the limitless meadow with virgin scent of soil
Lovable trees gradually wake up, start to talk
Under the star-lit sky, memories returns into the cavity of bosom.
 The day that passed by
Crickets make sound, the birds' chirps, doel, shalik, and the crows
Bundling darkness of night boarded in the ship of morning
African catfishes were tugging with the torn moon
The fishes fight in the ponds, night pass in laughter and sorrow.
In the farm of uncle, the stars go in honeymoon
At the secssion of poets the trading of words goes on
Some leaves and some enters in the slumber of deep dense ocean
The rain walks, the rhythm of dance of the Hades calls, Come nearer.
Locking life and youth with keys, somebody walks away
When he'll return again and where shall he stay, is not known
Hope remains for whom who left and for the day that passed by
The diving game under the sea, nacked moon blush in the sky
The moon rose when the first woman got together
In the heart there remain a lonely nude memory.
Launching of Star
Offsprings of the stars, stand in a row
Today you will be investituded under new consitution
Sun will be Prime Minister, Venus will act as Home Minister
He will make the Universe illuminated for great darkness.
Diving ships will be busy in searching out
The ornaments of broken moon from the deep sea
Silvery whales will devour in dreams
The nose-ring of the ocean.
O Venus, Home Minister, Sir, Please be generous
Please permit the Sun to control the movement of Earth always
Let hide and seek of happiness be played everywhere.
Lest the poets will start continuous pen down strike
In demand of saving themselves
Against the attack of mosquitos and load-sheding.
 Rolling Flame of Fire We wrote your name at our villages and fields wharfs ports
(To Nelson Mandela) Wrote your name on the hammers and shovels of labours
Wrote your name on the doors of our farms and factories.
Nelson Mandela I haven't seen you Nelson Mandela is the name to get life from any destruction
I have seen my blood. Nelson Mandela is the name of humiliated labours for centuries
From the bullet wounded chest of enemy Nelson Mandela is the name of each and every freedom seeker.
By watching the sparkling hot wave of blood pour To stand in front of machine guns and mortars is the name of Nelson
I have shouted the name Nelson Mandela Mandela
By calling you from this part of the world To stand against the injustice is the of Nelson Mandela
I have seen you Nelson Mandela Nelson Mandela is the name of struggle
I have seen from your bullet wounded body Nelson Mandela is the name of the looming flame of fire.
Same blood pouring Nelson Mandela we can hear the tune of black freedom song
Then your and my blood mixed together and became same. We can hear your victory sound of freedom
I flew shirt stained with the blood from Bangladesh
Today from this part of the world Look here take your victory flag.
We can hear
The loud demand for Nelson Mandela's freedom,
Can hear from Mandela's voice
Freedom song for all prisoners of the world
Nelson Mandela is the symbol of freedom for all prisoners
Nelson Mandela is the white dove of peace.
Mandela we don't fear death anymore today
We too are passing our time in a different prison
Olive coloured octopus is surrounding our freedom.
Mandela we hate autocracy
Hate the horned creatures in midst of humans
Hate the poisonous reptiles and
Love the freedom seekers of the world.
Nelson Mandela you are our descendent
We are your brothers
Your blood flow is in our blood stream
Nelson Mandela sleeping people wakes up at your name.
The 'falgun' wind calls up
Peoples wake up from the rubbles again,
The cuckoo says at Nelson Mandela's name
The spring festival will happen in the forest of blood red rose.
 Nilanjona Soap
Instead of burning you I burnt myself One day early in the morning, in your bathroom
Did you became the fire, Nilanjona I waited patiently for you becoming a scented soap
Look the farmhouse on the moon's bosom You entered the bathroom slowly and became alone
How do you look over there, Then from the darkness of your sari
Where do you want to go Nilanjona where do you want to go? Gradually you released the full moon of your body.
I have informed the water earth and sky In my heart I cut the tape of the door
You are mine, where will you go? Of the red rose of your garden
I could feel the Awakening jubillant waves
The water-god Barun told when you would met Are clapping all through your body.
You will say right away, Barunani will take you with it You exposed me off all my coverings with one snap
Will write you the kingdom of underworld. Such stripping was never been happened in my life
Now tell me where will you go? Nobody took me closer,
To the hell or the heaven, Nilanjona With great fondness you rubbed me on the body at the bathtub
Where will you go where? And smeared my fragrance on your charming body
And then under the shower you made yourself more pleasurable.
Have a big house in the heaven where all the fairies are guarding Then after finishing using me
If you wish you can go there that house is yours too, You kept me on the shelf of the bathroom carelessly
Or else if you go to hell well I am staying over there. I don't know when you'll take me again closer to you.
Now tell me where you will go
Which is better heaven or hell?
On the earth there were differences, white or black
After death Heaven or hell? Now can't come to a summery
God why are you like this? Is this you way of justice?
* * *
By hearing this poem God instantly
Created a new kingdom
In between the space of heaven and hell 'Arshinagar'
Here all the poets
And all the lovers will stay.
Friends, lovers and beloved in heaven or hell
Where ever you are now come to 'Arshinagar'
No one will interfere in our freedom over here.
 Song of Rising Sun
(To Yassir Arafat)
O my Sun, my friend,
Advance ahead, go ahead with radiant steps
Striding ahead in the dark come stand here
Face your hawk-eyed enemies in the battlefield.
Walk past O Sun, go ahead
And lit fire on the faces of your opponents in the warfields of Palestine
They fear darkness very much, the they, like bitches in-heat
Attack the Labanese lands
And mercilessly massacre Palestine friends.
O Sun, stand up devouring all the darkness.
Skylark, stop singing morning songs
Your morning melody might make Palestine fighters
deviate their aims towards their enemy.
Stop the painful melody of your songs
We shall look at the morning Sun
And hear the exalting songs on your voice.
Orange in the Hospital
I looked for Dettol in a busy hospital
Couldn't find Dettol, found a Savlon
Looked for cotton and bandage while coming back with Savlon
But couldn't find that and even ragged cloth.
Will the ragged cloth do for the time being?
One nurse was helpful, opened her purse and
Saved us by giving some cotton-like thing
And others became busy to find a new needle.
Some of them ran toward the blood bank
The doctor said, if this doesn't work then try from black-market
If the price is double, buy that, or else we can't make the patient alive,
The lift was out of order, while coming back with blood.
The doctor was on rest. The patient's present condition
Was not communicated to me, he said.
We tried to communicate over phone
The tiger-brand swallowed the cross connection,
The doctor was busy, talking with his beloved:
If the patient won't die today, I can't come
To your place, do you understand, Hello. Hello.
Blood, blood, Blood. Who ? who's shouting?
We, we have managed the blood…
While finding blood and doctor getting ready
And lift started to move,
An orange tree grew up in the patient's body.
In a press briefing, the Health Minister said-
Poor patients of the Hospital henceforth can
Have the taste of orange free of cost.
 Life of an Old Dress
I have a lot of shirt-pant in black trunk
Red, blue, yellow, white, black-- all color
In various designs
How many time the design has changed with the generation?
Sometimes the legs are narrow and middle part is loose
At times the legs are loose and middle part is narrow
A shirt is very smart, lying silently in shape by the side
Suddenly within it a saint cried out.
I asked him, who are you?
Again that man laughs out from the shirt
Don't you recognize me?
I am Robindra Gope, once I was brave and independent.

Some times the dresses held discussion among themselves

Within the black trunk regarding incarnation
Some participate in dancing and some in singing
Shirts try to move their hair but they have no head
Pants felts that they have no legs in it
The pocket of the memory is open

Some of the shirts could not forget the past

They call for their past friend
In my black the trunk a poetry meeting starts
Rabindranath comes and put on his discarded Punjabi
Then discusses with Nazrul about some unknown subjects
Nazrul dressed with his fighting dress
Some time politics some time with social problems
They engage in arguement with those heavy topics

My black trunk became a noisy within a moment

Peeping my head inside I stare at them,
Oh! The dresses of the deceased, how are you?
Body shivers with fear
If any of the shirt capture me
I am not afraid, collected all shirts
I haven't get the chance to wear yet

Some of them belong to the murderer

Drops down the street
Then with a low price
Straightly came into my black trunk
 A Goat smiles at a loaf War of Freedom
What a dreadful night befalls at the coastline of Bangladesh Add up my youth from your life
Ocean demons dance nakedly at the gusts of winds kindling fire on water Then you can know my real age
Spreads its fierce claws on the habitations at night Add up my youth with your victory
Cries children, widowed sister Rahima. Then you can know about the war of freedom.

When the heart of Manpura burnt down by the fires of water Add me up with your victory
Nijhum dwip turns into velley of death Then you will have life
When looking at the procession of corpses jackels forgets ferocity My blood is mixed up with your birth
The vultures fly in the sky wailing Deduct my blood
Fishes of the sea nibble at the bodies of corpses. My youth will be deducted
Then there would be no war of freedom,
Then you came, O Goddess Your birth would not be history.
As if a youth completed your worship and said,
O, its beautiful! O, its beautiful! Add me up with your life
Add my father's thundering roar of invitation
When you turned your face Wear the green sari and on the dawn of your forehead
Yor copter tries to land on the shattered bosom of Nijhum dwip Break the sleep of the blood-red sun.
From the bosom of scorched ocean odd smell of corpses
Entered into the copter jumping into the window Then the war of freedom will occur,
Sudenly to cover her face with handcarchief Then liberation will take place
Coating of your lips brushed away. Now become the flag by putting on sindur
I will give you my youth
When movie-camera focussed at you, you are surprized You give me love
Hey! you should give me a moment to prepare I will give you blood
You looked at your face in a little mirror taking out of your bag You give me the War of Liberation.
Did your eye-brow with a black pencil
Oh! you looked beautiful with your doe-type eyes.
Private Secretary moved fast and
Held your colourful dress in front of the camera
One admirer remarked, Oh! Beautiful!
It was disgusting looking at those nacked corpses.
 Journey at Dark Night
The progress of birth-victory realization
Lots of barricade though he will go far
Going alone at the beginning of the journey at dark night
Bringing the Golden morning while walking while talking.
The moment of sunshine only around him
He must reach the far distance
He choose the life of boat,
Gusty winds stormy rains blocking the way
Raising the sail shouting badar, badar splashing away
He must start today the journey to a far distance.
He is ready form his childhood on starting journey
Took off his cloths and gave to others
The homage of sunlight at the dawn of winter
A farmer was in the moon field with naked body
He gave him his own covering cloths.
Gave food to the hungry poor houses
Lighted up the lamp in the midst of darkness
Became the sun by putting away the darkness
Now Mujib is nothing else, but Mujib turns into the sun
The bugle sounds by remembering the name Mujib'
Say Mujib Mujib all in concert Mujib all along
Row the paddle of the boat at the name of Mujib
Set on the sail at the name of Mujib
On the stormy day have to hold the oar with strong hand on his name
Would cross the river by remembering his name.
Blood Stain on the Flag
I expect for the day
For a long time
For a long time
I keep the memory of a miserable day
Keep in my heart,
I treasure a faithful, handsome brave man in my heart
I couldn't ever forget in my lifetime
The painful summation of his passing away.
In the dense darkness when with full moon
Will brighten
The streets and ins and outs of heart
When the green forests will be resonant
At the chirping of morning birds
When after a sad night
The red sun of morning will rise
When a bright sun will emerge
After ceasing of a painful night
Can anyone tell that jingling
Of the fastening chains will stop?
Can anyone tell how many nights
The sound of boots will wake up the infant!
Mother's heart will shiver, the devil will swallow
The cities, ports, human habitations and the country
Hungry stray dogs will enjoy the silent curfew
The shy face of humanity will cry in malicious time.
After how many days, the city streets,
The Shahid Minar, twenty-first February
Will be thronged with bare-feet processions
After how many days?
After how many days people can shout
With their exaltation shall call out
The name 'Mujib', 'Mujib'
Once I dreamt Sheikh Mujib
Then one day in reality, I've seen this wistful great man
With great love and gratitude
Then I kept on loving Modhumoti,
Padma, Maghna and Jamuna.
Singing the Vatiali song lift the sail by saying badar, badar.
The boatman thought the boat his existence
Started the family thinking the river his home.
I started loving him.
Loved the fisherman of Padma
Who catches the silver hilsha.
By seeing Sheikh Mujib in his eyes
I fell in love with him,
Fell in love with the blacksmith who against the enemy
makes nails by using the furnace.
I loved the black asphalted highway,
Slogan, procession, writings of the wall
Posters, festoons. Kept loving
The labour of factory,
I loved the farmer, the weaver and day-labourers
Fell in love with the student who shouted Joy Bangla
Into hollow blue death
And fell down while protesting- I love him too.
We have been introduced like this
Met in revolution, mutiny, like the educator and follower.
Met in War of Liberation.
Then in the waves of hundred millions agitated people
How they faced the enemy with tremendous roar
I had seen them.
Never seen the volcanic eruption of Vesuvius,
But - seen you, Mujib.
Your announcement in thundering roar
This struggle is for freedom
This war is for Liberation'
On seventh March at Suhrawardi Uddayan
Started a roaring wave in the sea of people.
I have seen, like earthquake
How the enemies' heart trembled
Though those trembled enemies
Lift their heads up like turtles.
They thought, if they defy your order
People would say nothing to them, couldn't say anything,
They ran over tanks on the bosom of the crowd
They shattered the whole of Bangla.
With the bullets from SMG and machinegun.
Burnt down all the green to ashes,
The shady villages of Bangla
Took away the soft baby from mothers' wombs
Spill blood by charging bayonet on the bosom of the youth.
Blood trickled down in the highway, cities tremor.
Suhrawardi Uddayan became the mountain of dead bodies
Though the people of Bangla did not stop,
Haven't forgotten you, Bangabandhu Mujib.
One day you got mixed up
With our slogan, your thunderous voice
Your clenched protesting fist
Became assorted with our protest,
Migrated from the suburb an inexperience boy
Has never seen you
Became the eternal sky
After that I could not forget you.
When I have seen you first
In the endless Pacific Ocean
And when I have last seen you
The burning sun in the eternal open sky
Such a great man I had never
Ever seen anywhere. And you became our companion forever
In the blood struggle of billions of people Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib, the hero of revolution
On the last day with protesting face The sullen processions of Probhat Ferry.
With the bosom as large as Bangladesh
You sacrificed it - Bangabandhu Mujib
Became memorable, unbending with the enemies.

Who knew a crimeless man, who only,

Talked about freedom of people by loving them,
Would be gunned down in a liberated country!

The agents of capitalism

Didn't stop by drinking the blood of three million,
Didn't stop their bloody game and
Frantic violent dance of destruction.
They didn't knew, from the blood of a Mujib
There would born a millions of Mujib in every house
They didn't knew,
By saying Joy Bangla, Joy Mujib against the enemies
The people will rise again
Highways would be flooded with blood.

Did anyone know their sleep will break by the sounds of boots
Bad dreams will wake up the babies with fright in the middle of night
My mother will cry out at the news of her child's death,
With their bullets and smashed away by trucks
The death news of students and teachers,
When autocrats devoid of humanity dance with cheer.
At that moment who would say-
'If another bullet is shot
and if one of my people get murdered?'
The greatest Bangalee of the world would be
Murdered in this way
Could anyone thought about it?
After that swine dances on our heart
Boot nails stabbed our chest
Vulture's chew our hearts out
 Honey-moon of Full moon How are you Rabindra Gope?
Bathing in the water of moonlight Many a years elapsed
You stood on the balcony of the sky you full-moon Tell me now how are you
Lively sixteen-year virgin moon Why you look so pace-faced
I wanted to gaze at you all the times Why your ribs are trembling
Wearing bluish sari of the cloud Why are you stammering?
You covered your beautiful shy face.
Smeared cool cloud on your glowing golden boobs My brother went out just a few moments ago
Snow-cool caress dropped down drop by drop Has not returned yet from the procession
You gave cheering rain on the bosom of drought-dry Earth Haven't you see once blood-drenched body
We welcome you again and again And bullet-pierced bosom?
At last snow-cool moon
Shared out your youthfulness to the bachelor cloud At the grave-yard of Azimpur
Sixteen-year full-moon your honeymoon My brother lives peaceful
Will be performed with cloud-bachelor at the sea-beach. Youths of liberated country
Are living liberated there.

All others have become topsy-turvy

The city shivered at night
On the bosom of black asphalt the dust is drenched
Democracy is wailing.

We are keeping fine

We eat, walk, can hear
Haughtiness of the boots, whipping sounds
Many a years have passed
How are you Rabindra Gope?
 For Shimu
Among many a books only one beautiful book
Amid many many a tales
Only one incidence,
Among many pictures oonly one picture
Entered into my space opening the door of my mind
Similarly one day you came in.
All my territory went under your control
All my flowery dreams bloom in bright morning
Everything around me turned illuminated
My heart filled with melody of your songs.
Immortal
O! The beautiful conqueror of death by remembering you
We put away our deepest darkness
Here and there who swings in the bosom
The old lady with spinning wheel recite poems in moonlit night
Who come and go in the eyes in the songs
Waves play in the dry shore of bizarre mind.
Who come and go like this and touches the gloomy heart
In the little life of sadness and happiness
Wake the life up by rubbing fire
Feel comfortable to play with fire
Refreshes the life in fire
Rise up the falgun with fiery fire
On the birthday of mother Bangla.
You are the bright picture of poet
The name Mujib has spread worldwide
In paddy fields in farmer's stockroom
In hammers shovels in the sweat of daily labours
In every sunny bright dawn.
In the scent of flower in the cuckoo's chirp on the beginning of spring
In the wild wind with flying disheveled hair
In peepul tree.
You are not only with in me
In the sky air sea-water
Restless youth in madness of tunes
Sing around at your name
The full moon stays awake alone.
In the tune of flute village cowboy
Sing around at your name.
You are not the only you
The father of the nation you are all around the world
You are of the farmers in the golden paddy fields
 You are my farm of words
Whatever I got from you fulfilled my life
Overflowing sea topsy-turvy
Whatever earned is your love form heart
My golden Bangla filled up with
Your victorious flower necklace.
Your name is spread worldwide
Worthless me living on your name
Woken up humanity of truth equity and love
O! the beautiful conqueror of death you are my freedom.
Yours name is Modhumoti yours is Padma, Jamuna
Lac of life shaded blood for freedom is only in your name
Yours name is world winner freedom giver of humanity
O! The beautiful conqueror of death
You are the father of the nation of Bangalees.
Till now I can't sleep
A sun spreads lots of light to this world
The people knew about the victory in war against all darkness
Deserted people gathered courage
On the lap of Bangla the sun of March beside Modhumoti river
Bloomed a dream in the world,
A new map bloomed with the blood red in the greens.
Luminous sunlight cleared off all darkness
Reptiles of darkness didn't stop,
They are brothers and they got shelters in the darkness.
They lighted up a candle and sat inside the shell of turtle
Their prayer was the darkness should come in blooded feet
Streets get slippery with blood and chariot of prosperity would stop
Their dream journey has started, they are snails
Secretly they planned to cover the sun and stars
With mountains of dark tricks and artifices.
Sons of devil sons of darkness monsters and creatures
Drown the vivid solicited sun in the blood sea
They don't know, dark can't hide up the sun
Simultaneously rises up the colourful spring cuckoos
They cry, make the flower garden sorrowful by crying.
A sun awaken Bangla from a thousand years heartless reclamation
Gifted the world with a flag and a map
He is that sun 'Bangabandhu' in every morning I salute you.
1971 is the great year of revolution for the nation
Topsy-turvy blood sea of Great War
The stage is nothing but a big peacock faced boat
From here it spread like the vibrations of sea,
 Joy Bangla - Victory of Bangabandhu
On the seventh March Suhrahwardi Uddyan is not just a field
Thousand years great Bangali come and stand without fear
Now is the Victory for Bangalis, triumph of truth
Three million people altogether became an Ocean
In Suhrawardi Uddyan, from here the lion of Bangla
Roared and the Pakistani sovereign get scared.
Those beasts hell rising - pests Rajakars
Scrawling insects known vultures
What would I tell them?
Could I tell that they are the citizen brothers of this country?
For the urge of those questions I can't sleep till today
Though all of the doors of my is closed
The fiery earth of seventy one calls me, the door get opened.

Bangabandhu called for a guerrilla war in that address

'This struggle is for our freedom
This war is for our Independence.'
After that main guerrilla war started
And the chief commander is Bangabandhu.

One of the doors of my get opened though everything was closed

Lolling flame of fire torched up in memorable seventy one
Scream shouts out from the heart, blood covered stairs wail
Which day has gone who has left only the memory door is open
The sad tune sounds in the heart.
Ghosts ran away from the eyes with scenery
Who's passing by stepping on the fire
The indomitable youth goes ahead with great speed
Who is running with a bullet wounded chest
Whose screaming is that, which widow is crying!
Mother is raped in Blood bloomed country
Blood Sea fell up side down on each and every dead body.

Waves of flaming fire, where does it drifting the green Bangla

Where is my brother going, where is my mother going
Who's putting a hand on the mouth to stop the child's cry?
Who cheers up by watching the human blood
Who are cheering up with joy by shooting the bullets like this?

They are not human! Those who shoots in the peoples chest
Those who raped and ate the youth of my sister
Tell me, are those humans! Those who drunk the blood of my brothers
How can I say to them, you are my brothers too!
 Tears of Divinity
Darkness befell one night in the graceful river
It was resolved, moonlighte was there in the night
Droyght-striken Earth had scarcity of water
Everywhere there were waves, touching the arm of the sea
Rowing a canoe in the rainless cloudy darkness
Both of us set out in the streams of water stretching our wings.
Wev fled, fled, the sail was blown with the kisses of wind
Oh, Graceful river
You’ll too young, do not know about love
Still have trembling of youthfulness
Everything was in favour, only one thing is absent
The sky was moroseWith the whip of the Divinity
Lacerated the soft figure of the sky
Then sounds of winds from all quarters
Form the crimson eyes of the divinity drops down the tears.
In the Cavity of bosom
All around us black snakes are covering entire moon light
Weevils eating up the pain by scraping the chest's ledge
The gun powder's soul huddle in the gap of chest's cavity
Dizzy pain sometimes start trembling
You have started your journey go ahead, in front of you a sea is calling you,
It is your time to go, this time I wont call you back.
Lungs filled up with polluted air
It is hard to stay alive at the blooming time of a flower
At the eternal journey of the world in flowery light
The thread of love has tied up with the chest's cavity.
You have started your journey go ahead towards yours sea of tears
You will find my address.
You have captured me with the illusion of your eyes
Come back after having bath in the crystal clear moon light
I have preserved your beautiful portrait in the deepest holy place of heart.
 The phrase book of Love
Like a dew drop on the rose petal
As soon as you came, you said I’ll go away, in your enchanted mirror
Don't know why you wanted to sit awhile
In my honeymoon room
Could not understand language of your painful love
Remains in the deep darkness, in the phrase book to love
To the dim light of full moon night - Hasnuhena
With your prayer I wail deep in my heart
Once you have come on a lily leave like a crimson dawn
I placed my heart in the pond, you could not understand
Then searched you at the garden of heaven
Oh butterfly, colourful butterfly
Where did you lost, you senstive!
You lost at the water of moonlight
Your shade lie in my courtyard of bluish dream
You come nearer as fragrance in the Sondhamaloti.
The Poet
Rabindra Gope, was born in Joynagar, Brahmanbaria, in 5 November
1951. He had his Secondary Certificate examination from K. B. High
School in 1967 and Higher Secondary Certificate from Bhairabi Hazi
Hashmat College, Kishoreganj in 1969. He had his Bachelor degree in
Commerce from Dhaka University in 1972.
Rabindra Gope is a prolific writer and showed his efficiency in poetry,
nofel and short stories. His published works include Poems: Aurakhita
Savyota in 1981; Darao Ashchi in 1983; Manush ebong Manush in 1984;
Potakae Rokter Dag in 1987; Palalo Kumari Shap in 1989; Joler Bari Majh
Uthoney in 1990; Judhyo Joyer Chhora in 1999; Pathorer Chokh in 1999;
Nokhotrer Obhishekh in 1999; Ishwarer Nikhoj Songbad, 1998; Mujib
Amar Auntorey Bahireyb in 1998; Chhagoler Hasi O Ekti Pauruti in 1998;
30 Lokho Surjer Kobita and Swetango Indurer Golpo in 2000; Shrestha
Kobita and Maer Bhashar Gaan in 2001. Short Stories: Poraner
Swadhinata in 1986; Swapna O Chander Konkal in 1990; Muktijodhyer
Golpo in 1997; Juddha Joyer Golpo in 1997; Rodheen Basati in 1980.
Novel: Batasey Baruder Gondho in 1985; Ghurni in 1990; Nishidha
Swarga in 1997; Naraker Manab in 1997; Nakal Raja, Ek Akasher Nichey
and Upanyash Somogro in 2000.
Rabindra Gope was awarded Kathashilpi Goshthi Gold Medal in 1978;
Bikash Sahitya Puroshkar in 1990 and American Biographical Institute Man
of the Year in 1994
The Translator International Stamp Exhibition, ‘Jakarta 2008’ for his research publication ‘Artist
K G Mustafa and his Outstanding Designs.’; awarded Silver Medal for his
Pioneer in research on postal history and postage stamps of Bangladesh
coloured catalogue ‘Postage Stamps of Bangladesh 1971-200’ from American
Siddique Mahmudur Rahman (born in 4 September 1946 at Khorki, in Jessore
Philatelic Society, 2009.
town), is a reputed researcher, author, translator, editing and publication
specialist. He had his School Final Certificate from Calcutta in 1965, Higher Siddique maintains a literary website www.trulybangladesh.com since 2005.
Secondary and B.A. Certificate from Govt. M.M. College, Jessore. He ad his
BEd and MA (Englsih) Degree from Rajshahi University in 1976 1nd 1980
respectively.
His research publications include A History of Bangladesh Philately 1971-
1985; Bangladesh Stamp and Postal History, 1988; Banglladesher
Dakbyabostha and Banglladesher Daktikit, 1995; Postage Stamps of
Bangladesh - A database, multimedia philatelic software in CD, 2002;, Postal
Stamps in Banglapaedia, Eminent Personalities of Bangladesh, a multimedia
database software in CD, 2003; KG Mustafa and his Exceptional Designs,
2008; Banglladesher Dakbyabostha (2nd Edition) and Postage Stamps of
Bangladesh 1971-2008, 2009.
Siddique Mahmudur Rahman is an inexhaustible writer and efficient translator.
His literary publications include Paakhi (Daphne du Maurier’s novel ‘The
Birds’), 1991; Bhaaalo Meye (Oscar Wilde’s play ‘Lady Winderemere’s Fan’),
2000; Swarga Marichika (Daphne du Maurier’s novel ‘Monte Verita’), 2001;
Poems of Bangladesh Ñ (†iv‡Kvb Rûi m¤úvw`Z) translated 40 poems,
2004; Shahabuddin Nagari’s Poems, (translation of 96 poems) 2005; bvB
wK‡i myL (Short Stories), 1997; Avi GKUz mgq (Poems), 2004; Selected
Poems (Edited with Rokon Zahur and translated 10 poems each of 12 poets)
2005; †m Avgvi †Mvcb K_v (Novel) and wg‡_¨ Mí (Juvenile stories),
2008.
More than eight research papers were published in leading research journals
of Bangladesh.
Siddique Mahmudur Rahman was awarded was awarded Silver-Bronze Medal
from Cardinal Spellman Philatelic Museum Inc., USA, Bronze Medal from
American Philatelic Society, USA both in 1990 and Silver Bronze Medal by
Australian Philatelic Federation in 1993 for his pioneering publication
‘Bangladesh Stamps and Postal History’; awarded Silver Bronze by Pacific
Explorer, Australia in 2005 for his unique philatelic software in CD ‘Postage
Stamps of Bangladesh’; awarded Silver-Bronze Medal from 22nd Asian