The wind of spring that touching me May have touched you. We are strangers to each our selves But I dream few moments with you. The serenity of this Sunday morn Deepening the solitary of mine As we thrive on our aspirations Living on different sides of the road.
SOMETIMES I feel ASHAME of being a MAN...MARD...PURUSH...
Mist shrouded halogen lights City coming to static pacific. Another city underneath whispers-- Life conceived and nurtured here. Another city glossier (than former) Remain awake sipping the luxury-- From the chalice they call life. Mirror never lie except at this-- High storied reflects dark. Another mock another Lives imitates lives. Sangbad Gratitude
Blankness of promises Filling the void of the Autumn night. Existence Of mine getting questioned As the expectations crumbled Under my breathings Proving the blue of time In the sand of hourglass.
Rising high through the nightvoid Early autumn cloud I can only grasp Moon or star not my destination Am just laundering over cities Am a soul or maybe just wind (Ifyouwant) donot lookforme in your grasp Find me in magic dawn's oblivion Seek me in early dawn's bluesky Ascend
Free-translation of one of my Bengali Poems
A different pattern of poem writing I tried. There was a silence I found self lieng in. A silence that was rising from the waking up Sunday drooling bypass below, running infront house; A silence that was loiterring over the vale of Sweat soaked long-used mattress or is it this Monotonous humdrumed life that's basking … Continue reading Affair of a Trivial Sunday Morning