World Poetry Festival magazine 2021

Only sound came

Abhijit Daskarmakar
...not wasted, I’m sweating
It’s just midnight outside the survey from the show-case, and the rain is
pouring down; what a strange
it’s taste!
Each drop is written as Biyas...
Let it rain
Let’s embrace the two shapes by the side of the blind-light door and let
the wind blow with the full moon _
Today I wiped the rib wound with a blue handkerchief, it is a mistake to
think of it as comfort
Every time an object called Chilka falls on feet, the obsessed youth sits in
the middle of the road.
I nodded, only the sound came with a heavy shadow on my shoulder
O God, take an oath of my body and tell me, will a novel still be written
in the meaning of my 18 years?

English translation : Author himself

151

¼ô

×yî”# =®

¤y!îû ¤y!îû ô,•þöì˜öì¥îû þ›yöì¢
xy!ô îöì¤ xy!Sé
ö¥„öìþ ëy!FSé ô,•%þÄîû !ô!Sé¡ !˜öìëû

Gîûy xyôyîû !˜öì†þ !æþöìîûG •þy†þyöìFSé ly
Göì˜îû ¥*ê!þ›uþ ~‡lG ™†þ™†þ †þîûöìSé
Göì˜îû ö‹þy‡=öì¡y îû_«î”Å
Gîûy ’þzÍÔyöì¤îû æþyl%¤ G’þüyöìî îöì¡ ÷•þ!îû ¥öìFSé
Gîûy ²ÕÄy†þy’þÅ îy!löìëûöìSé– !¡öì‡öìSé óôyl%£ìó
Gîûy ôMéþ ¤y!öìëûöìSé– !¡öì‡öìSé óôyl%öì£ìîûó
Gîûy ôy¥zöìe«yöìæþyl ˆîûô •%þ¡öìSé ô,•þ ôyl%öì£ìîû lyöìô lyöìô

xy!ô •þî%G ö¥„öìþ ‹þöì¡!Sé
ôyíy =l!Sé þ›y =l!Sé
ö‹þyöì‡îû !•þ_«•þy þ›!îûôyþ› †þîû!Sé
¥y!¤îû kþ•þÄ ö˜öì‡ xîy†þ ¥!FSé
•þî%G ¥„yþ!Sé
Göì˜îû þ›y¢ !˜öìëû Göì˜îû ô™Ä !˜öìëû

ö†þl ö†þ’þz xyôyöì†þ ¤!îûöìëû !˜öìFSé lyÚ
ö†þl ö†þ’þz xyôyöì†þ î¡öìSé ly
ó˜)öìîû ‹þöì¡ ëyGóÚ

xyÙ‹þëÅ ¥¥z
•þyîûþ›îû !löìöì†þ¥z !‹þô!þ ö†þöìþ ö˜!‡
ö˜!‡ xy!ôG xy¤öì¡ ô,•þ¥zÐ

152

Illusion

Srabani Gupta
sitting by the rows of cadavers
Jostling my way out
Through the procession of the dead–
They never glance back
Their hearts still beating by their chests
Eyes bloodshot
Preparing to blow up lanterns–
Lanterns of victory
In their placards they have calligraphed
Letters that spelled ‘Humans’
Beautifully adorned the stage
Flashing on the display board
‘For humans’
The microphone is hot with the use
For so many names were announced
Yet I walk on
Counting heads counting feet
I try to weigh the bitterness of those dark slit-like pupils
Shocked to see them laugh so loud
The arrogance plainly revealed
But walking past them
Through the soulless mob—
Why don’t they push me away?
Why don’t they asked me to run away?
Shocked
Surprised I am
Then reluctantly pinching myself
I realised that
I am but dead too.

English translation : Author herself

153

¢¥öìîû ¤ôëû

!þ›ëûy‚†þ#

¤öìëû !ˆöìëû !¡öì‡ ëy¥z ¤y˜y xyîû †þyöì¡y
xy=öìlîû ˜yˆ ö¥y†þ !ô¥z ö‹þlyöì¡y
˜îû xyöìSé ˜yô xyöìSé öôöì¥!æþöì¡ îû.
öë‡yöìl öë%þ†%þ xyöìSé ôîûöì‹þîû ‚
•þî% öël öl¥z öl¥z ¥yèþyöì•þîû ¢!l
Çþ#îû ö‡öìëû ô%öìSé ölöìîÚ †þyöì¡îû ö¤ ™ç!l
xy!¤ xy!¤ †þöìîû •þyG ö†þöìþ öˆöì¡y öî¡y
ölöìô •þî% !æþöìîû ~öì¡yÐ ö‹þï†þyöì‘þ ö‡¡yÐ

îöìëû ëyëû !˜l îûy•þ ¥yGëûyöì•þ¥z ¢yô
V%þ!îû V%þ!îû ¤%öì•þy xyîû !îSéylyëû ‰yô
•þî% ë!˜ !æþöìîû xyöì¤ ¤§¬Äy¤# ôl
†þy‘þˆ’þüy •%þöì¡ ö˜îІþy‘þyöìôy îyîû”
îöì¤ öíöì†þ öîöì¤ ëy¥z èþy¡îy¤y öô‰
!æþöìîû ö˜!‡ ‰%ô èþy.y †þyæþl ¢öì•þ†þ
öîöì’þü ’þzöì‘þ öíöìô ëyëû èþyþy xyîû öèþyîû
¤yöìí ¤yöìí ö¥„öìþ ëyëû xyôyîû ¢¥îû
~¥z¤î ö¡‡yöì¡!‡ îà!˜l þ›îû
!lèþöìSé ööìlG xy!ô öˆySéyöìîy ~†þîû
~†þ¤yöìí G‘þylyôy }öì”îû ô%†%þî
öy’þüy•þy!¡ ¤‚¤yîû xèþyöìî¥z ¤%‡

†þ•þ!†þS%é îûöìëû ëyöìî !þ›Séöìl !æþöìîû
ö˜‡y ¥öìî öæþîûîyîû l!¤öìîîû !èþöì’þü
öþöìl îûy‡y ˜!’þüþy¥z †þþ›yöì¡ †þyîû”
öy’þüy¤„yöì†þy îîûyîîû xyöì¡ëûy !îöì¡ylÐ

154

The City-time

Piyanki
I endure; I keep on writing the monochromes
Let the fire-marks help me recognize my land
There’s worth, there’s price, there’re gatherings – colourful
There’s rust, wherever, how little let it be
But as if there’s no fate of the bankrupts
Will it gain the favour stealthily? That’s the echo of the epoch
Days are gone in a hesitant dilemma
Days returned. In the threshold, the game goes on.
Wind blows away the days, nights and dusks
Threads are all around, on the beds – perspiration
Yet if the vagabond heart comes back
I’ll raise the fence of jurisdiction. Frame is prohibited
I keep on sitting leisurely, I feel a love – overcast
Turning back, I see hundreds of shrouds – awaken
The ebbs, the dawns are suppressed
My city walks along with them
I’m writing these after a long time
I know it’s diminishing, yet I’ll organize my lands
Together, we’ll be exempted from the differing debts
In the domestic of patchworks, deficit is a felicity itself
We’ll leave many things aback
Amidst the crowded fortunes, we’ll meet
The tightened rope is our sole destiny
The will-o’-the-wisp – across the twin bridges.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

155

‰!’þü

•þy!lëûy îÄylyÅ#

!löì£ìöì™îû ô•þ îûy!e ˆöì¦þ !èþöì íyöì†þ öèþyîû–
xíîy †þ# èþ#£ì” ö‹þïÁº†þ ¤Áº¥lÐ
~öì•þy öë ‘þ¡öì†þ þ›öì’þü öþyþ› ‡yëûœ
•þî%– öæþîû !löìþy¡ !lþ›%l xyîîû”Ð

ö•þyôyîû ‘þy†%þîû ‰öìîûîû ¤¦þyîû!•þîû ô•þ xßË öyly†þ
îy!•þöì•þ xy!ô ö¤„öì†þ !l!FSé !löìöì†þ x¥îû¥Ð

xyôyîû ¤ôhßì !’þG ‹%þ!îû öˆöìSé †þy¡ îûyöì•þ–
!þ›öì¡y †þèþyöìîû ö¢!èþ‚ !e«ô xyîû x¢îû#îû# ˆöì¦þ öôï•þy•þ ôy †þ!îû ²Ì!•þ îûyöì•þÐ

Gîûy l˜#îû •þ#öìîû þ›˜yî¡# ˆyëû–
xyöì¡y ‹þy¡ öæþyöìþ ˆ,¥öìßiîû îy!’þü–
xy!ô •þyîûy‡¤y ö˜!‡ xyîû îöì¤ íy!†þ ö¢£ì öþÆöìlîû xöìþ›ÇþyëûÐ

Time Clock

Tania Banerjee

The entire dawn soaks at a hushed up nocturnal-smell
Or, a deep, magnetic bewitchment.
So deep that it spills to be lured!
Yet, again, a complete, perfect blinder.
I keep on warming myself near the pyre of fireflies in the church, every time.
My deo-s have been stolen yestereve, (when)
the spot of shaving cream with the smell of a phantom is all that I bank every night.
They lyre to country tunes near the river banks,
Houses smell the bread upon ovens,
And I watch the fallen stars while waiting for the last train.

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

156

¤#ôyly

îûyöìÙ»îû# £ì’þü‚ˆ#

ö¡‡!l xy¤öì¡ î¡y†þy ²Ìy‹þ#l ˆyl
ˆyöìlîû öèþ•þîû ߺ²À Sé’þüy†þ •þyîûy
xy=öìlîû þ›yöìëû öî„öì™ ö˜î =Ol
Ù»y¤ !löìëû î%öì†þ ’þzíöì¡ ’þz‘þöìî ¥yGëûy
¥yGëûy !†þ ¢)lÄ xy†þyöì¢îû ôöì•þy l#¡Ú
î%†þ !‹þöìîû Göì’þü †þ•þ¢•þ èþy¡îy¤y
‹þy!îû!˜öì†þ îyöì ôôÅß›¢Å# xyöì¡y
î!¨ îy™öìl ôO%îû# íy†þ ˆ„yíy
ö•þôl þ›yˆ¡ ¥ëû!l †þ‡öìly ö†þ’þz
¼y!hsýîû ö†þyöì¡ !l˜yîû&” ö†þyöìly ¢#öì•þ
îöì¡öìSé ¥*˜ëû !æþ!îûöìëû ölöìîly †%„þ!’þü
†%„þ!’þüîû ôöì•þy¥z æ%þöìþ öíöì†þ Vþöìîû öˆöìSé
xyöì¡yîû ¤#ôyly öþ›!îûöìëû !ˆöìëûöìSéy y!l
x¦þ îy’þz¡G x!™†þyöìîû íyöì†þ ~†þy
ööìl!Sé !†þèþyöìî öíöìô ëyöìî ~†þ!˜l
†þÒlyôëû ²Ì!•þ!þ öîûyöì˜îû †þíy
²Ì!•þ!˜l îyöì hßì¸þ ôöìlîû xyyl
î”Åôy¡yîû ô!¨öìîû yöìˆ xyöì¡y
¢· yöìˆ ly lÁË ™%öì¡yîû †þ”yëû
•þî%G ~‡l !î˜%Äê ‹þô†þyöì¡y

157

The Limit

Rajeshwari Sarangi
Actually the pen is an egret-old song
Let them spread dreams inside the song
I’ll tie the buzz up with the feet of fire
The wind will surge up inside, breathing
Is the wind as blue as the empty sky?
How much love flies, riving the chest
Appealing light rings all around
Let the grant stay tied in captivity
No one has ever become such crazy
In the bosom of delusion in a calamitous winter
Heart said that it won’t take the buds back
Just like the buds, it has fallen apart, after staying blossomed
I know, you’ve transcended the limit of the light
Even a blind Baul stays alone in his possessions
I’ve learnt how the words of every visionary sunlight
Will cease one day
Everyday rings the chant of the stagnant heart up
The temples of the alphabets are lightened
Sound doesn’t rise in the particles of gentle dust
Yet the lightning flashed now

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

158

ö¢£ì þ›y•þy

ôl#£ìy ‹þe«î•þÅ# îöì¨Äyþ›y™Äyëû

xyôyîû ¤’þü†þ– ¢öì· öèþy ôy‘þ ö‹þöìl
ö‹þöìl– îû.¥#l öì¡ þ›öì’þü íy†þy
îûy. ôy‡y SéyëûyG
•þî%G– †þ‡öìly †þ‡öìly ‡%î èþëû ¥ëû– #îl öël î¥zöìëûîû ö¤¥z ö¢£ì þ›y•þyóóþyîû ôöì•þy ly ¥öìëû îöì¤
öë‡yöìl þ›í ‹þ¡yþy ~‡öìly îy!†þ
!†þv– ¢·öì˜îû ¤yöìí ¤î ¤yÇþyê ¥y!îûöìëû ëyëûÐ

Last page

Manisha Chakravarty Bandyopadhyay
My way– knows the wet field by word
knows– the colorfull shadows
fall in the colorless water
Still– sometimes I feel very scared– Life
should not be like the last page of a book
Where there is still a long way to go
but– all encounters with words are lost.

English translation : Author herself

159

ô,•%þÄ hßìyî†þ

{!¢•þy ôy!Vþ

öëöì†þyöìly ô,•%þÄ ¤‚îyöì˜îû †þyöìSé xy!ô l•þyl% ¥öìëû î!¤Ð
~¥z ô%!_«îû lÄ xyhsý!îû†þ x!èþl¨l yly¥z ô,öì•þîû xydyöì†þ–

!†þv †þ‡lG ö¢y†þ †þ!îû ly •þyîû ’þzöìjöì¢ÄÐ
#îöìlîû ’þz˜ëyþ›l ô,•%þÄîû ˜¢Ÿé›öìlöìîûy !˜l þ›îû xî!™ ‹þöì¡Ð
xy!ôG îûy•þ ööìˆ !˜öìlîû ô,•%þÄ ö˜!‡ x¤y’þü ¥öìëûÐ

xyôyöì†þ !îîû_« †þöìîûy ly–
ô,öì•þîû †þyöìSé î¤öì•þ ˜yGÐ

xöìl†þ ߺ#†þyöìîûy!_«îû ö¡löì˜l îy!†þ îûöìëû öˆöìSéÐ
yöìly¥z ö•þy–
xöìlÄîû îÄ!_«ˆ•þ !˜l!¡!þ› ööìl ëyGëûyîû ôöì™Ä öë ’þzÍÔy¤ xyöìSé
•þy =®¥•þÄyîû ôöì™ÄG öl¥zÐ
xyôyöì†þ xyôyîû ô,•%þÄîû xyöìˆ †þíy î¡öì•þ !˜G–
~ëyîê ‰öìþ ëyGëûy xyôyîû ¤ôhßì ô,•%þÄöì˜îû ¤yöìí

ƒƒƒ ~†þîyîûÐ

The Eulogizer of Death

Ishita Majhi

I get genuflected before any news of death.
Convey my heartiest congratulations
To the soul of the demised,

But I never repent.
The celebration of life continues till a fortnight after death.
Over the sleepless nights, I also observe the dissolution of the day, numbly.

Don’t disturb me,
Let me sit beside the deceased.

Many confessional deals are due.
You know well,

The elation you get, discovering one’s personal diary,
Is not comparable even
With the joy of assassination.
Let me converse before my death,

… Once
With all my deaths up until.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

160

!î¼yhsý

¤¨#þ› èþRy‹þyëÅ

ö¤¥z öë‡yöìl {Ù»îû ˜„y!’þüöìëû !Séöì¡l–xyîû xy!ô l•þyl%
ߺ²ÀÚ
y!lly– •þöìî !l!Ù‹þ•þ xy!ô •þ„yîû ô%‡ ö˜‡öì•þ þ›y¥z!l
öþ›öì¡– ˆyöì¡ ~„öì†þ !˜•þyô xîy†þ ‹%þô%
þ›îûyˆ Vþöìîû þ›’þüöì•þy èþyöì¡yîy¤yîû
xyôyîû ö²Ìöìôîû ö†þ„y†þ’þüyöìly ‹%þ¡ öîöìëûÐ
x•þ/þ›îû ö²Ì!ô†þyîû ’þyˆîû ö‹þyöì‡
Vþöìîû þ›’þüy l#îûî x!èþôyl ly ¥ëû
þ›yl †þîû•þyô !lîûhsýîû ¤%öì‡Ð
ö¥ {Ù»îû
•%þ!ô ö²ÌôÚ ly !†þ ö²Ì!ô†þy– •%þ!ô {Ù»îû
ööìˆ xyöìSéy x!î‹þ¡ ¤ly•þl ô%oyëû–
!èþ•þîû îy!¥îû xhsýöìîû xhsýöìîû
!î!Séöìëû ‹þöì¡öìSéy ~!†þ xq(•þ ôyëûyy¡
xyîû ö•þyôyîû öˆyþ›l ¥y!¤
ö‡y˜y¥z †þöìîû ‹þöì¡öìSé @ýÌ#†þ èþyßñëÅ
þ›„yöìîûîû ˆèþ#îû ‡yöì•þÐ
~¥z ¢¥îû ˜)öìîû ¤öìîû ëyöìFSé– ~¥z @ýÌyô ¥y!îûöìëû ëyöìFSé
~¥z ‡y¡ !î¡ îà•þ¡–
öë‡yöìl ëy !†þS%é ö¡öìˆ xyöìSé xyôyîû ¢îû#îû ˆ¦þ
¤î Vþöìîû þ›’þüöìSé xîy†þ Çþ•þ ¥öìëûÐ
!²Ìëû•þôy– S%é„öìëû ˜yG ö•þyôyîû xy¡•þy x„y‹þ¡
þ›îû¢ô!” ¥öìëû ëy†þ ~¥z ’þz•þ¡ ¥yGëûy
x¢îû#!îû ¢#•þ¡ îûöì_« ööìˆ ’þz‘%þ†þ
ö†þyöìly •þ®¡yèþyîû ߺ”Åþ›y¥y’þü

161

Disconcerted

Sandip Bhattacharya
That very place where the God was standing, and
Genuflected I was
Dream?
Don’t know, but it’s certain that I couldn’t see
His face
If I could, I would have imprinted my astonishing kiss on His cheeks
The pollens of love would have fell
Across the curly hair of my love.
Hence, in endless joy, I would have drunk
The silent touchiness, falling down
Into the eyes of my lady-love.
O God
Are you love? Or the fianc , you God
Are awake unswervingly in the orthodox gesture,
Every in and out – in my heart
You are spreading such a strange illusion
And your secret smile
Is engraving the Greek sculptures
In the deep trenches of my ribs.
This city is moving apart, this village is getting lost
This ditches wetlands multi-storey,
Wherever how much odour of my body is stuck
Everything is falling down like surprised scars.
O darling, touch me with your crimson fringes
Let the fervent breeze turn into philosopher’s stone
In my ethereal cold-blood
Let the golden hills of heated lava awake.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

162

ö‡y¡y yly¡y

˜%/‡yl¨ ô[þ¡

~‡l yly¡yþy ¤îÅÇþ” ö‡y¡y íyöì†þ
xy†þy¢ ö˜!‡ xy†þyöì¢ ’þz’þühsý ‰%!’þü=öì¡y =!l
=löì•þ íy!†þ †þëû!þ ë%öìkþ þ›îûy!•þ ¥öìëû ôy!þöì•þ þ›öì’þüöìSé
~†þ¤ôëû ö‹þyöì‡îû þ›y•þyëû †Ïþy!hsý ölöìô xyöì¤ •þ‡lG îy!†þ=öì¡y ’þzöì’þüÐ
‰%!ôöìëû þ›!’þü– Gîûy ööìˆ íyöì†þéŸéööìˆ íyöì†þ öyly!†þ
¢îû#öìîûîû ’þzþ›îû !¢¡yî•þ#îû ößËy•þ îöìëû ‹þöì¡
‹þ„yöì˜îû xyöì¡y ~öì¤ þ›öì’þüöìSé xyþ›y˜ôhßì†þÐ

÷¤lĘöì¡îû ôöì•þy yly¡y!þöì†þ öîÜTl †þöìîûöìSé =Íá•þy
öël ¢îû#îûöì†þ xhsýÅyöì¡ xyöìÜTþ›,öìÜT öî„öì™Sé
¤î !†þS%éîû ôyöìVþ ë%kþ ‹þ¡öìSé ²Ì!•þ!lëû•þ
yly¡yîû þ›yöì¢ •%þ¡¤#ôöìMéþ ²Ì˜#þ›þy μ¡öìSé
xy!ô xy†þy¢ ö˜!‡ xy†þyöì¢îû •þyîûy =!l
ö‡y¡y yly¡y !˜öìëû xy†þy¢ xyôyöì†þ ö˜öì‡Ð

Open window

Dukhananda Mandal
Now the window is open all the time
I see the sky while counting the kites flying in the sky
I keep counting how many battles have been lost and fallen to the ground
Once fatigue comes down to the eyelids, the rest flies away.
I fall asleep, they stay awake-fireflies stay awake
A stream of Shilabati flows over the body
The moonbeam has fallen from head to toe.
Shrub has tied the window rigorously like an army
As if the body is tied to the internet on all sides
The war is gradually swallowing everything in every moment
The lamp is burning on the Tulsi Mancha next to the window
I see the sky, I count the stars
The sky looks at me through the open window.

163 English translation : Author himself

¤¦þÄyîûyˆ

¢Äyô¡# ˜y¤

¥*˜öìëûîû !‘þ†þ ôyVþ‡yöìl xyîû ~†þþy ¥*˜öìëûîû xl%èþ!î ¤¥îy¤–
‹)þ”Å!î‹)þ”Å ¥öìëû èþyöì¡yöìîöì¤ xy†þZþ ’%þöìî öíöì†þ þ›yl †þ!îû ëyþ›l !lëÅy¤œ
öˆySéyöìly ˆ,¥ßiy¡#– xöìˆySéyöì¡y ö²Ìô xöìèþĤ ¥öìëû öî„öì™ îûyö쇖
æþy=öìlîû ô%¡•%þ!î !löì†þyöìly ’þzöì‘þyöìl !¥ô %þþ›%þþ› xl%îûyöìˆÐ
¤¦þyéŸéîûyöìˆ îyö썖 xyöì¡y ô%öìSé ö˜Gëûy lîûô ¤%öìîûîû öîöì¡yëûy!îû–
ö‹þly ¤%‡ öèþyöìˆ xöì‹þly x¤%ö쇖þ›!íÄîû G öl¥z îy’þüyîy!’þüÐ
!‡’þü†þ#îû æþ„y†þ !˜öìëû ¥zöìFSé ’þyly xyöìîûy ~†þîyîû S%é„öìëû xyöì¤ !˜ˆhsýöìîû‡y–
è%þîl’þyDyîû †þÒôyöì‘þ !ô¡öìî !†þ xyîû ö¤¥z xyöì¡yîû ö˜‡yœ
öèþöìD‹%þöìîû =öì’þüy ¥öìëû öëöì•þ öëöì•þ î%öì†þîû ôöì™Ä löì’þü ‹þöì’þü lyöìSéy’þü ’þzþ›oî–
¤öì¦þ lyöìô–öìySély !î!Séöìëû ö˜ëû ¢#•þ¡þ›y!þ– •þî% ö¥y†þ öîûyöì˜îû †þ¡îûîÐ

The Evening Raga

Shyamali Das

Just in the middle of the heart, there’s a
Compassionate stay of another,…
Being shattered, drown up-to-the-eyes
I drink the extract of the life!...
Organized household binds me
Being my messy habit of love,…
The spring is adjourned amidst the
Frost droplets
In the cleansed yard, in affection.
Wiping out the light, the Belwari of mild melody
Plays in the evening raga,…
In the familiar enjoyment and unfamiliar ailments,
There’s no exaggeration of cures.
Through the gap of the window, the wings of my desire
Comes, touching the horizon once again,…
In the dreamy courtyard of Bhubandanga, will the light
Flash again!!??
While being shattered, inside me
An indomitable nuisance play around,…
Evening comes, moonlight spreads out
Its carpet, still let there be the clamour of sun..

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

164

y˜%†þíy

æþyõl# ö˜

!¤’þz!’þü †þ¡†þy•þy ˜)îûþ›yÍÔyëû ‹þöì’þü î¤öì¡¥z
’þz¥zöìuþy !¤öìþîû æ%þîûæ%þöìîû ¥yGëûyëû îëû¤ †þöìô ëyëû
¢•þ†þ ˜¢öì†þîû ëyî•þ#ëû ÷˜!l†þ èþyîû
xyî¥!î†þyöìîûîû ôöì•þy ‡öì¤ þ›öì’þü ~!˜†þ G!˜†þ
ö‹þï!†þ˜yöìîûîû öþ›y¢y†þ !Sé„öì’þü ëyëû þ›ylyˆöì’þüîû Döì¡
ßiyîîû xßiyîîû öèþöì¤ ëyëû xëû löì˜îû öì¡
ëöìsfîû ¥*ê!þ›öì[þîû ¤yöìí î!lîly ¥ëûly xyîû
!îû‚öìþyl îyöì¡¥z îû_«‹þyþ› †þöìô ëyöìî y!l
~‡l Ö™% ˜%ˆÅyþ›%îû ~:öì²Ì¤Göìëû ™öìîû
xy¨yôyl ¤ô%öìoîû ’þz_y¡ î%öì†þ !’þ!D þ›yîû
Gîûy ¤îy¥z xyôyîû öìlÄ xöìþ›Çþy †þîûöìSé
xyôyöì†þ !’þüöìëû ölöìî lÇþöìeîû xyöì¡yëû
xyôyöì†þ ß›¢Å †þîûöìî xlhsý ô¥yîûy!e
!îÙ»y¤ ¤¥ ly!†þ x!îÙ»y¤ †þ!‘þl
ö¤ •þ†þÅ ö•þy¡y íy†þÐ ~‡l îöì¡y 韟Ÿé
¤ô%öìoîû !èþ•þîû ’%þy•þyöìîû †þ•þÇþ” ’%þöìî íy†þöì•þ þ›yöìîûyÚ

165

The Magic

Falguni Dey
As soon as I start my ride in the Suri-Kolkata long-run,
The breezy window-seat brings my youth back
All the daily loads of decades and centuries
Fall off to and fro like weathering
The watchman’s clothes torn apart in the woods of Panagarh
All the belongings float away in the stream of Ajay river
My rapport with the heart of the machines gets faint, I know,
My blood-pressure will come down as soon as the ringtone will start to ring
Now, across the Durgapur express-way, I will only
Boat on the turbulent Andaman sea
They all are waiting for me
They’ll embrace me with the starlight
The great and endless night will touch me
Either it is easy to believe or hard not to
Let’s keep that controversy aside. Now tell me –
How long can you stay submerged inside the sea?

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

166

öþyþ›îûþ›ylyëû ööìˆ íy†þ èþy¡îy¤y

þ›,íy ‹þöìRyþ›y™Äyëû

ö‹þyöì‡îû •þyîûyëû ö¡‡y íyöì†þ #îöìlîû ˜¥l
ööì¡ ôy!Vþ ¤yîûyîûy•þ y¡ öæþöì¡
ölï†þyëû xy •þyîû ôySé öl¥z
™) ™) ¢)lÄ•þy ôy‡y ö‹þy‡
ö‹þöìëû íyöì†þ xlhsý xy†þy¢
¢¥öìîûîû ôöìl ö†þyöìly þyl öl¥z
ˆyl öl¥z î¤öìhsýîû !˜öìl
ëyîû ˆyöìëû ö¡öìˆ íyöì†þ ö¤„y˜y¡ ˆ¦þ
ö¤¥z ö•þy èþy¡îy¤öì•þ yöìl
~‡yöìl Séy˜ ‡%î !l‹%þ– ôyíy ö•þy¡y ëyëû ly
!˜öìlîû ö¢öì£ì ˜¡S%éþ þ›y!‡ ~†þy ‰öìîû öæþöìîû
•þyîû þ›y¡öì†þ ö¡öìˆ íyöì†þ öë î¦%þ•þyîû îû‚
¤yîûyîûy•þ xyöì¡y ¥öìëû ö‡¡y †þöìîû •þyîû l#öì’þü
l˜#îû ~†þþ›yöì’þü ö¤yly ™yöìlîû ¤%‡
xyîû xlÄ þ›yöì’þü ¡!þ›!þ›îû ˜%/‡
~†þôöìl x„yöì†þ !‹þe†þîû
•þî%G !¢’þz!¡îû î,öìhsý ~‡öìly ²Ìy” xyöìSé
öþyþ›îûþ›ylyëû ööìˆ íyöì†þ èþy¡îy¤y

167

The water hyacinth remembers to love

Pritha Chattopadhyay
The grief of life is hidden in the stars of my eyes
The fishermen cast their nets all night
Their dinghy doesn’t have any fish though
Eyes engulfed by a strange emptyness
The reticent city is strangely indifferent
There are no songs as the harbinger of spring
The one who can still love,
Has a lingering scent about him ,like the one of rain on wet ground
The roof over the head is too low, i can’t look up
A lost bird returns home at the end of the day,
Its feathers warm with the colours of friendship
Which light up its home all night
On one side of the river, I can see the lush green of the paddy fields,
golden in the sunlight
On the other, the grief of a little Egret
The painter uses his brush strokes
The shuili still lives,
The water hyacinth remembers to love.

English translation : Author herself

168

•þîûD

îûy×# îöì¨Äyþ›y™Äyëû

öSéyþ öSéyþ •þîûD e«öìô î’þü xyîûG î’þü ¥ëû Ð §Ã ölëû ~†þ ~†þþy ¡þ›y¥z îû.y ¥zöìFSéîûy Ð xyöì¡y’þül •þ#îÊ ¥Gëûyîû ‡îîû
xyöì¤ îy•þyöì¤îû ˆöì¦þ Ð ’%þîöì•þ íyöì†þ y¥yöìîû ôyÝ¡ Ð ˜)îû öíöì†þ öèþöì¤ xy¤y xyyöìlîû xl%îû”l þ›!îe xyöìî¢
ö“þöì¡ ö˜ëû Ð !î¤!ôÍÔyîû ¤yly¥z !˜öìëû ’þzIyþ›l xyîû ô%¥)•þÅ ëyþ›l Ð !l.îûyöìly xy¡y˜ ôöìSé hßìöìîû hßìöìîû Ð öyëûyîû ö™yëûy
¡ S%é„öìëû ëyëû xyþ›y˜ôhßì†þ Ð !¢¥îû” yöìˆ xyô¡†þ#îû îöìl Ð !îöì¡y¡ xyöìîˆ !¡öì‡ ‹þöì¡ #îhsý îû*þ›†þíy Ð ÷l/¢öì·îû
’þylyëû ˜!¤Ä ߺ²Àöì˜îû !èþ’þü Ð •þî% ß›öì¢ÅG †þ‡lG †þ‡lG ‹þ¨öìlîû ˆ¦þ !ôöì¢ ëyëû Ð ß›¢Å†þG èþˆîyöìlîû ²Ì!•þ!îÁº ¥öìëû
Göì‘þ Ð ¤î !ô¡öìlîû ö¢öì£ì– þ›!îû•,þ!® lëû Ð ö†þyl ö†þyl !ô¡öìlîû ö¢öì£ì §Ã ölëû éŸé~†þ !‹þ¡öì•þ öîûyj%îû– ~†þ xy†þy¢
ô%!_«– †þyöì¢îû îl !†þ‚îy ’þzFS´é¡ •þîûöìD îöìëû ëyGëûy ~†þþy l˜# éŸéëyîû þ›yöìëû ‰%.%îû î„y™y Ð

Waves

Rajasree Bandhopadhyay
Small waves– are gradually getting bigger and bigger. An olive, colored de-
sire is born. The news comes with the smell of air that the agitation has
intensified. The ship’s mast is sinking. The echo of Azan from afar pours out
holy obsession. Celebrate with sahanai of Bismillah and spend the moment.
Squeezing emotions are gathering level by level. The tidal water touches
from head to toe. Myrobalan forest awakens with shivering. A living fairy
tale is written with a lot of tardy emotions. A crowd of impish dreams on
the wings of silence. However– sometimes the smell of sandalwood is mixed
with the touch. Whoever touches sometimes he is God. The end of all in-
tercourse– not just satisfaction. And at the end– sometimes– there born, a
sparkle of the sun– a release in the sky– a forest of coughs or a river flowing
in an exciting wave, whoes legs are tied with anklets.

English translation : Author herself

169

ߺ²Àîy ˆySéþy

îûOly èþRy‹þyëÅÄ

xy!ô ~†þ!þ ߺ²À ˆySé þ›%„öì•þ!Sé
ß›¢Å !‹þ!†þê¤yîû lÄ–
xß›,¢Ä !‹þ!†þê¤yîû ö¢£ì ¥öìî ¤sfy¤# ¥yô¡yîû ö¢öì£ì–
xyôyîû ߺ²Àîy ˆySéþy %öì’þü öîyîy– †þy¡y– x¦þ hßìöìlîû æþ¡–
ô,˜% ß›¢Å– y˜% ˜%öì™îû æþ¡– ¥Ä„y–
èþ#îû&
¤sfy¤ ö•þyôyîû lÄÐ

The dream grabber tree

Ranjana Bhattacharyya
I planted a dream tree for my
Touch therapy,
So that distance therapy comes
To an end after the terrorist attack.
The dream grabber tree will produce deaf and dumb, blind
Fruits of breast.
Just a tender touch, magical milch fruits for you, yes,
the chicken hearted terror.

English translation : Author herself

170

öì¡îû ¼ô

îûy‡# ¤îû˜yîû

öël ~öì¤öìSé ö¤
†þ!î•þy öîyVþyîû x%¥yöì•þ
~î‚ xyôyöì†þ !¢öì‡ !löì•þÐ
îyîûîyîû öþ!¡öìæþyl
’þy†þlyöìôîû ö‡„yƒƒƒ
˜%†þíy ö‹þlyîû þ›îû韟é†%þëûy¢yîû @ýÌ#îy S%é„öìëû
!‹þ!‘þ ö˜Gëûy ölGëûyÐ
‰%lyÇþöìîûG ö¤–ë!˜ l@À ¥öìëû þ›öì’þüœ
~¥z öèþöìî !îl•þ öíöì†þöìS郃ƒ
xyôyîû ²Ìöìîûy!‹þ•þ †þîûöì•þ ¥zöìFSé ¥ëû–
¥zöìFSé ¥ëû î!™Å£% ‹%þÁºöìl ¤yˆîû ‡%„öì’þü öæþ¡öì•þÐ
¤ôhßì öì¡îû ¼ôÐ ôê¤Ä†þlÄyîû
îû!•þ¢îû#îû !‹þ†þ !‹þ†þ †þöìîû †%þtþyμöìîûƒƒƒ

171

Aqua Phobia

Rakhi Sardar
As if he has come
With an excuse to perceive poems
And to apprehend me.
Over and over Telephone calls
Quest for nickname.
And deciphering few words after
Exchanging letters with
Soft touches of dew on the chin
In fear of naked disclosing in any instance
He politely refrained himself.
I feel like provoke him
I’m longing for digging ocean with my pervasive kiss
These are all of aqua phobia, Mermaids.
Coital figure is sparkling with delicacy-fever...

English translation : Ashoke Kar

172

!lîûyôëû

x!ô•þ ‹þe«î•þÅ#

†þ•þ˜)îû ëyöìî •%þ!ô ¤î% þ›,!íî# öSéöì’þüÚ
ë•þ˜)îû †þíy öˆöìSé ×î”!†þlyöìîûœ
¤ô•þöì¡ ‰%öìîû ôöìîû ¥y¥y†þyîû–
xyöì¡y ˜)îû !ôlyöìîû !ôlyöìîûÐ
þ›„yöìîû ¥yöì’þüîû¥z ¢· Ç%þ™yîû ‹þy˜îû
†Ïþyhsý æ%þ¤æ%þöì¤ !˜ˆöìhsýîû ¡y¡Ð
îûy!eߺöì²À ö‰yöìîû ô%öì‡yöì¢îûyÐ
²ÌyíÅlyëû xyöìîû†þ%þ Ù»y¤– !îÙ»y¤Ð
ô,•%þĈ¦þ# ~ Sé!îöì•þ ¥y•þ ˜yGÐ
²Ìyöì”îû ’þz£•þy ~öì¤y– yˆyGÐ
ôy•,þˆöìèþÅîû öíöì†þ æ%þöìþ Göì‘þy
Göìˆy !lîûyôëûÐ

173

Oh Care

Amit Chakrabarti
How far will you go from this Greenhouse?
Upto the space were tune disappear!
People mourning in the plains–
Lighthouses can only see it clear.
Ribs shiver in the cages of hunger–
Lungs in fatigue becomes dark.
Masks float in frightened dreams–
Prayers breath in and faith wants to spark.
Touch this portrait of oblivion–
Warmth of being show some.
From mother’s womb of care
Oh love please you come.

English translation : Author himself

174

~†þ ¢yhsý xöìþ›Çþy

˜#þ›!¢‡y ‹þe«î•þÅ#

~†þþy Ö†þöìly !îî”Å•þy ’þz!’þüöìëû !˜¥z yly¡y !˜öìëû–
!†þS%é ô%¥)öì•þÅîû hßì¸þ•þy–
‰%ô ö“þöì†þ ëyëû x„y™yöìîûœ

¢îû#îû öîöìëû ™%öìëû ëyöìFSé lîûô xyöì¡y–
!ô!¡öìëû ëy!FSé xy!ô–

#îöìlîû Gþ›îû öël !î!Séöìëû !˜öìëû!Sé x!èþ¢yöìþ›îû †þyöìþ›Åþ–
¥y!îûöìëû ëyöìFSé xöìþ›Çþyîûy–
¥y!îûöìëû ëyFSé •%þ!ôœ

öèþöì. öèþöì. ëyGëûy !˜l xyîû îûy•þ–
¤ôëû%öì’þü þ›öì’þü íyöì†þ ²Ì!•þ×&!•þ éŸé
ß³þ!þ†þ þ›,!íî# S%é„öìëû ¢yhsý xyöì¡yîû l#öì‹þ ô%öì‡yô%!‡ î¤yîûÐ

Silent momentum of expectations

Dipshikha Chakraborty

I blow a dry fade through the window–
Momentary silence–
Sleep is covered in darkness!

Soft light washes through the body–
I’m going to match–

As if I had spread a carpet of curse on life–
Now the wait is over–
You’re lost!

Day and night broken–
Promises fall through time-
Sitting face to face under the calm light touching the crystal earth.

English translation : Author herself

175

’þy†þ

¤î”Åy ‹þöìRyþ›y™Äyëû

˜)îûî•þÅ# =Á³þy öíöì†þ ‰rþy™ç!l
¤yîûy þ›y¥y’þü ˆôˆô †þöìîû îyöìÐ
ˆy!’þüîû öèþ•þîû öíöì†þ öî!îûöìëû xyöì¤ •,þ!®îû Ù»y¤Ð
†%þëûy¢y ö†þöìþ ëyöìFSé •þ‡l
ë•þ Gþ›öìîû ’þz‘þ!Sé î!¡Ûþ ¥öìFSé !¢îû˜„y’þüyÐ
!¤þöìîΐþ xyöìîûy ¢_« †þöìîû îy¥zöìîû ˜%¥y•þ Sé’þüy¥zÐ
†þ•þ öô‰– !¢!¢îû ¡
ö†þl öë ~ôl †þöìîû ™îûy ö˜ëû!l xyöìˆÚ
¥ëû•þ xyôyîû¥z ˆy!æþ¡!•þ
þ›yîûöìæþQöìlöì¤îû î%ö졐þ²Ì&æþ Äyöì†þþ
ˆyöìëû ‹þy!þ›öìëû þ›í xyöìîûy ˜#‰Å ôöìl ¥ëûœ
†þ‡öìly D¡ †þ‡öìly ‡îûöìßËy•þyîû þyl–
!†þ‚îy îûyöì•þîû x¦þ†þyöìîû ‹%þ!þ›‹%þ!þ›
Ö!†þöìëû ëyGëûy †þy§¬yîûy
öîyöìVþ ly ö†þyl!˜l ö†þ’þzÐ
¥yGëûyîû ¢)lÄ•þyëû öèþöì¤ ëyëû ~†þy†þ# !˜lÐ
ë•þ Gþ›öìîû ’þz!‘þ– ß›ÜT ¥ëû ’þy†þ
öîïkþ=Á³þy– ²Ì˜#öìþ›îû ¤y!îû
öþöìl ëyëû xöì¡ï!†þ†þ þ›öìíÐ
öë þ›öìí xyôyîû ôy ˜%¥y•þ îy!’þüöìëû íyöì†þ–
þ¡ôöì¡ þ›yöìëû =!þ=!þ
Vþ„y!þ›öìëû þ›!’þü– xy×öìëûœ

176

Call

Sabarna Chatterjee
The bell rings from a distant cave
The sound resonates, wraps up the hill
Someone inside the car breathes, satisfied.
The mist retreats.
The higher I climb, my spine strengthens.
I tighten my seatbelts, spread out my arms.
The clouds, dewdrops-
They have never came so close.
Maybe, it’s my negligence.
Perfection is nothing but a bulletproof jacket.
It makes the road seem a bit longer!
The jungle, the tide,
The tears that dried up the previous night
None of them understands.
The day floats alone in the air.
The higher I go, the clearer I hear
The Buddhist caves, the rows of the lamps
Pull me towards them in a miraculous way.
As if my mother has stretched out her arms,
Staggering, I run towards her cozy lap

English translation : Priyodarshini. S

177

¤yô%!o†þ

ôô•þy öèþï!ô†þ

!¡öì‡!Sé †þ•þ †þíy •þî% îÄ_« †þ!îû!l îÄ!_«ˆ•þ öë%þ†%þ
¥yGëûyëû Göì’þü ôyöìVþ ôyöìVþ íyBþyîû ô•þ
î¤öìhsýîû ö¤ïîûèþ öôöì‡

÷l/¢· ˆöì¡ þ›öì’þü öôyöìôîû ô•þ xyôyîû !l/¤D•þy !‰öìîû
˜)öìîû ôy˜¡ öîöì ’þz‘þöì¡ ‹þôöì†þ Göì‘þ xy¤îyöìîîûy
xí‹þ ~¥z æþy=l öî¡yëû ôy˜¡ ö•þy îyöìî¥z
¤î% ¥y!¤ Sé!’þüöìëû þ›’þüöìî ‰yöì¤

!löìîû ‹þyîûþ›yöì¢ †þ„yþy•þyöìîûîû öî’þüy ™#öìîû ™#öìîû öîöì’þü ’þz‘þöìSé ²Ìy‹þ#öìîûîû ô•þ
¤%‡# G x¤%‡# xy!ô ˜%öìl¥z þ›y¢yþ›y!¢ íy!†þ
˜%ó†þyþ› †þ!æþîû ¤yöìí ~öìî¡y Göìî¡y †þíy ¥ëû
îy!†þþy îÄhßì•þyîû îûy‚•þyëû öôy’þüyöìly
‡%î þ›ëÅöìîÇþ” ¢!_« ly íy†þöì¡ xyöì¡y†þþ›y•þ ô%¢!†þ¡

xyîû î¤öìhsý ö˜‡y ¥öìëû!Sé¡ ö•þyôyîû ¤yöìí
!†þ ~†þ ë%kþy¥yöì !Sé¡yô xyôîûy
†þ‡l öël öíöìô öˆöìSé ö¤ ë%kþ
²Ìöìëûyl æ%þ!îûöìëûöìSé þ›îûß›öìîûîû

l!¨•þ ö¤ ˜,!ÜT !î!lôëû xÄy¡îyöìô ö•þy¡y xyöìSé
™%öì¡y öVþöì’þü þ›y•þy ö‡y¡y ¥ëû ly
~‡l Ö™% ~†þî%†þ ö‡y¡y xy†þy¢ !löìëû
¤ô%öìoîû ô•þ þ›öì’þü íy†þy îy¡%†þyöìî¡yëû
ö“þ’þz Göì‘þ ö“þ’þz lyöìô ²Ìy•þÄ!¥†þ !lëûöìôÐ

178

Marine

Mamata Bhowmick
I wrote so many things but never expressed in deep
Those words float in the air casually like thankas when the wind blows in spring
Silence melts around me like burning candles
Even the nonliving objects startle when the drums beat far from me
But it’s natural that the drums will bring the message that the spring has
come and the green grasses will laugh in joy
The fence around me is growing up like a wall
Both happy and unhappy myself live here together
Chat with each other twice a day along with a cup of coffee
Rests are covered with busy hours
Unless there is a deep penetration it is difficult to find out
As if we met in the last spring in a warship
When the war was over we had no common reason to stay together
It was actually over
All memories of our moments together are in the album now
None of us open it again
Just keeping it in the heart like the sky
Now spending time in the sandy beach
And observing the upward and downward motion of the ocean waves routinely.

English translation : Author herself

179

x¤¥yëû

ö¤yôy ô%öì‡yþ›y™Äyëû

îUþ x!¤îû ~¥z ¤ôëû
þ›,!íî#îû †þy§¬y †þíyîûy
’þzöì’þüy ‡¥z– ¥!îûöìîy¡ ™ç!l
xîöìîûyöì™ íôöì†þ ˜„y’þüyöìly
þ›%öì’þü ëyGëûy μ¡hsý îy¤Ð
ö™„yëûyˆ¦þ ’þz§Ãy˜ ²Ì¥îû
¥zþî,!ÜT– îûöì_«îû Vþ”Åy
~¥z¤î ¥zˆöìlyîû †þöìîû
èþy¡îy¤öì•þ î¡SéÚ
‰%” öþ›y†þy †þyþöìSé
èþy¡îy¤yîû @ýÌ!si¤ôëû
Göì‘þy– yöìˆy–
ë%kþ¤y ¤yöìyÐ
îöìôÅ x„yþy ~ ¢îû#îû
!î!¡öìëû ˜yG
ö•þyôyîû öô™y– ×ô– ë%!_«– î%!kþ
îy¥y§¬ %þ†þöìîûy †þîûy ö•þyôyîû ôllÐ

180

Helpless

Soma Mukhopadhyay
The time is so turbulent
The lachrymose words of the Earth…
Signs of the orthodox death
The burnt buses
Stopped in the blockade.
The smoky insane moments
Bricks – being thrown, fountains of blood
Ignoring all these
You’re insisting me to love?
Worms are damaging
The climacteric of love…
Arise, awake,
Wear the corselet.
Render this
Body–armoured…
Render your intellect, hard-work, rationality and wisdom
Fifty-two pieces of your contemplation.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

181

xy!ô– ~†þæþôÅyîû ~†þ!þ †þ!î•þyîû î¥z

xhsýîûy ˜„y

ë‡l¥z xyëûlyëû ö‹þy‡ þ›öì’þü xy†þy¡
ôyVþîöìëû¤# î˜îûyˆ# ~†þ èþyîû# ô!¥¡y
xyôyîû •þyîê ¥zöìFSéŸéx!löìFSéîû !˜öì†þ
Çþôy¥#l ö‹þyöì‡ •þy†þyëû–
í%•%þ !Sé!þöìëû lÜT †þöìîû ö˜ëû
¤î ö¡‡y!¡!‡ ~ ëyîêÐ
x¤¥yëû xy!ô èþëûyl†þ xyöìe«yöì¢
öî’þüyöì¡îû ôöì•þy öî„öì†þ ’þz!‘þ韟Ÿé
öîyëûy¡ôyöìSéîû !î¢y¡ ¥„yéŸéô%öì‡
ö¤ !ˆöì¡ ölëû xyôyëû
’þz˜ˆ•þ !îî!ô£ìyîû ¡y¡yîûöì¤ !þ›Séöì¡
!Séþöì†þ þ›!’þü ôyVþîûyöì•þ
öìôîû xÁÔ•þyëû èþöìîû G‘þy ¢îû#îû
•þ‡l öî¤yôy¡– ˆ!’þüöìëû öˆöìSé îûyhßìyëûÐ
•þî%– ~†þ!˜l x¦þ Séyþ›y‡ylyîû !²Ìrþyöìîû
†þy!¡îû ¤%ˆ¦þ öôöì‡ ‹þÄy²Wzy ¥¥z
xy!ô– ~†þæþôÅyîû ~†þ!þ †þ!î•þyîû î¥zÐ

182

I, a thin book of poems

Antara Dawn
Nowadays whenever you look in the mirror
A middle-aged grumpy heavy woman
Towards my will-unwillingness
Looks with unforgiving eyes,
Spit spoils
All the writings so far.
Helpless I am in terrible rage
Bends like a cat
The huge agape of the Big fish
He swallowed me
Slipped in the saliva of nausea
I fell in the middle of the night
The body filled with the acidity of indigestion
Then imbalance, rolled on the road.
Yet, one day on a printer in a blind printing press
I am flattened by the fragrance of ink
I, a thin form of poetry book yet

English translation : Author herself

183

xyî•þÅl

×#þ›”Åy ˆöìDyþ›y™Äyëû

μöìîûîû öèþ•þîû îyöì ¤yöìîû!D ö¤•þyîû
¡ô@À ¥z¥ ‹þîûy‹þîûÐ
öì¡îû Gþ›öìîû ¡ þ›öì’þü
þ›)îōöì§Ãîû öîûy˜ ~öì§Ãîû ‰öìîûÐ
öì§Ãîû öèþ•þîû §Ã
¤öìîûyöì˜ ö¤•þyöìîû
‰%öìîû ‰%öìîû ôöìîû
μöìîûîû öèþ•þöìîûÐ

Gyration

Sriparna Gangopadhyay
The Divine Melodies of fever
bonded with Sarengi & Sitar
Drowning in earthly pains, hovers...
Existence thy name, whatsoever.
The water embraces her beloved river
In cyclosis, waves after waves...
Searches the sunshine in a new home
As it were in those prenatal life.
In beats of Sharod & Sitar, eternal...
The quest for love mourns forever
In lonely avenues of heavenly fever.

English translation : Author herself

184

ö˜ï’þü

¢Äyô×# îûyëû †þôņþyîû

þÆyöì†þ þÆyöì†þ ö¡y†þ !æþîûöìSé V%þöìþy ößÔyˆyöìlîû ö˜¢ öíöì†þ
~¥z¤î Ööìl Ööìl ˆyöìSéöì˜îûG †þyl þ›öì‹þ öˆöìSé
öSéö졐þy ~îyîû ~†þþy ²Ì†,þ•þ !‹þê†þyöìîûîû !˜öì†þ ëyöìî
²Ìy”þ›öì” S%éþöìî îöì¡ î%öì†þ èþöìîû !löìFSé ¤hßìy ¥yGëûy
þ›yöìëû î„y™öìî îöì¡ ™yîû †þöìîû !†þöìl ~öìlöìSé ¥!îûöì”îû Sé¨
•þyîû ö†þyöìly îÄ!_«ˆ•þ ¥y•þ‰!’þü öl¥z
xyþ›y•þ•þ ¥*ê!þ›öì[þîû ¤öìD öî„öì™ !löìFSé !löìîû ~†þþy †þyl
xlÄ †þyl ‡%öì¡ îûy‡öìî ˜%!lëûyîû !˜öì†þ
•þyîû ö˜ïöì’þüîû xyöìˆ xyöìˆ æ%„þöì¤ ’þz‘þöìSé ö˜öì¢îû ’þzl%l
@ýÌyöìôîû ’þzþ›yöìhsý ~öì¤ öì’þüy ¥öìëûöìSé ¢yhsý ¢y!’þü
lÄy’þüy ôyíy ‡y!¡ ˆyöìëû ¤îû¡ ¥y!¤îû !¢Ö
‡y!¡ þ›yöìëû ~öìˆyöìFSé xy=öìlîû !˜öì†þ
•þîû&” !èþÇ%þîû ôöì•þy öôöì‰îûy ˜„y!’þüöìëû xyöìSé ôyíyîû Gþ›îû
l˜#îûy íôöì†þ öˆöìSé ’þz˜Ä•þ ˜ylþ›ye ¥yöì•þ
þÆÄy!æþöì†þ ˜„y!’þüöìëû xyöìSé !îöì†þ¡éŸé‰yöìôîû îy¤
‡%l ¥Gëûy ¼*” ¥yöì•þ !î£ì] lyîû#
~¥z ~†þþy ö˜ï’þü èþy¡èþyöìî ö˜‡öìî îöì¡
x¦þ†þyîûG •þyîû ˜%¥y•þ =!þöìëû !löìFSé ö‹þyöì‡îû Gþ›îû öíöì†þ

185

Run

Shyamashri Ray Karmakar

Trucks are returning– with men as their fill–
From the country that sells dream– false promises.

Even the trees have gone numb
They know those words
Who never come alive?

Now the boy wants to run
Towards the cry of the living.

With the zeal of a young lad–
He pumps in the cheapest air
To fill his little lungs–
Ties the rhythm of a frantic doe–
A borrowed one

He doesn’t have a watch to tell him time.
For now– he has synced one ear with his heart.
The other he has kept for the world.

Thousand tandoors– blazing like summer sun–
Wait for his run.
Behind– he has the border of his native village
Where gentle saris have come to wave at him.
Some bald kids wearing only innocent smiles
Follow him to the fire.

Clouds wait above– like young Buddhist beggars.
Rivers have come to a standstill Holding their offerings in their hands.
In the traffic– an evening bus is sweating and throbbing.
A lady has also joined the onlookers
with a dead foetus in her hands.

Just to watch him run–
Even darkness is lifting its veil up.

English translation : Author herself

186

ö¤yþ›yl

ô™%Sé¨y !ôe ö‰y£ì

˜#‰Å þ›í ¥„y!þ
‰!löìëû xyöì¤ öîûy˜éŸéî,!ÜTéŸéx„y™yîû
¤#ôy¥#l þ›!îûe«ôyëû öþ›!îûöìëû ëy¥z

îy¡ÄûéŸé÷†þöì¢yîûéŸéë%î•þ#öìî¡y
!†þS%é !†þS%é ˜#l•þy ö“þöì†þ !˜öì•þ
!î!™îkþ ¤•þņþ•þy öôöìl¥z

!ßiîû ~¥z ¤•þÄy
~¥z ôyëûy²Ìþ›Méþ
†þ‡lG ¥£ìÅ– †þ‡lG !î£ìyöì˜
²Ì!•þ!þ ô%¥)•þÅŸŸŸé
²Ì!•þ!þ ô%¥)•þÅ •þyöì†þ ‹þëûl †þîûöìSé
xyhsý!îû†þ•þy îyëû îûy‡y ²Ì!•þ!þ ô%¥)•þÅöì†þ
¤y!öìëû îûy!‡– =!Séöìëû îûy!‡
þ›pþ›y•þyëû xyˆöì¡ îûy!‡
~†þ öæþ„yþy †þy!AÇþ•þ ¡!î¨%ƒƒƒ

187

The Staircase

Madhuchhanda Mitra Ghosh
I travel a long way
Sunshine-rainfall and darkness play around
Through my boundless circumambulation, I go beyond

My childhood-adolescence and youth
To conceal some of the impecuniosities
Obeying statutory warnings

This truth is unaltered
This delusion
Sometimes merrily, sometimes in dejection
Each and every moment –
Each and every moment chooses it
I put each and every sincere moment
In order
On the lotus-leaves, I keep secure
A water-droplet – long desired

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

188

èþyöì¡yîy¤y

ö†þïhßìèþ îûyëû

öë!˜l ~¥z @ýÌ¥öì•þ ~†þþyG î¨%†þ !î!e« ¥öìî ly
öë!˜l ¤ôhßì xyöì@Àëûyßf öîyîy ¥öìëû •þy!†þöìëû ö˜‡öìî ôyl%£ì xyîû ôyl%£ì ôyîûöìSé ly
öë!˜l þ›,!íî#îû ¤î !†þS%é¥z Vþ¡ô¡ †þîûöìî ‡%î–
öë!˜l ¢#öì•þîû †%þëûy¤ôy‡y ¤†þyöì¡ ¤îy¥z ¤yîûy @ýÌöì¥îû ö†þyl ly ö†þyöìly æ%þöì¡îû îyˆyl îy xîûöì”Äîû ¤yôöìl ôyíy ly!ôöìëû
Çþôy ‹þy¥zöìî •þyîû ~•þ!˜öìlîû ¤ôhßì xþ›îûyöì™îû–
ö¤!˜l xîûöì”Äîû ¤î ˆySé S%é„öìëû ¤îyîû !èþ•þöìîû “%þöì†þ ëyöìî ¥yGëûy
xyîû •%þ!ô ¤îyîû x¡öìÇþÄ ô%‡ ¡%!†þöìëû ë!˜ ö¤!˜lG xyôyîû ôöìlîû ôöì™Ä ’þz„!†þ ôyöìîûy ö˜‡öìî ~†þþy¥z xyGëûy ’þz‘þöìSé
òèþyöì¡yîy!¤– èþyöì¡yîy!¤ó

Love You

Kaustav Roy
In that day when in this planet no guns will be sold
When all firearms watch dumbstruckly that human’s are not killing themselves.
When all things of the earth glitters brightly.
When in a wintry foggy morning all people of the earth,
will bowed their head infront of a flower garden or a forest and begged
mercy for the sin till now he or she has committed.
That day rising wind will come,
By touching the forest trees and flower beeds and goes into the heart of
those people.
And if you still hid your face and took a glance into my mind
You will hear the only sound is humming there
‘Love you’, ‘love you’

English translation : Author himself

189

îyîy

ö¤ïîûèþ ‹þw

~¥z ˆySéþyöì†þ !†þS%éöì•þ¥z xy!ô x!•þe«ô †þîûöì•þ þ›y!îû lyÐ
xy!ô ë•þ î’þü ¥¥z– •þyîû !m=” î’þü ¥öìëû ëyëû ~¥z ˆySéÐ
xy!ô ë•þ ˜%/‡ þ›y¥z •þyîû !m=” ~öì†þ ß›¢Å †þöìîû ö˜!‡Ð
~öì†þ†þ!˜l îûy!_öìîû– xöìl†þ îûy!_öìîû
îy!’þü öæþîûyîû ¤ôëû y!l
~¥z ˆySé xyîû xyôyîû îyîy Séy’þüy
ö†þ’þz xyôyîû lÄ xöìþ›Çþy †þîûöìî lyÐ

Father

Sourav Chandra
By no means can I transcend this tree.
As much as I grow up, this tree grows twice as big.
As much as I suffer, I keep touching it twice than that.
Sometimes at the night, late night,
While returning home, I know
No one but this tree and my father
Will wait for me.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

190

!•þ!í

¤‚ß,ñ!•þ îöì¨Äyþ›y™Äyëû

ô%öì‡ xyöì¡y öþöìl ™öìîûy
ôsfþ›)•þ †þy§¬yîû !èþ•þîû †þ•þ þ›%lô%Åo”Ð
!îöì†þyöì•þ !îöì†þyöì•þ
ö†þyl þ›yþ› öl¥z
ôD¡ S%é„öìëûöìSé xyôyîû
¤ôhßì þ›îûyëû

Moon Phase

Sanskriti Bandopadhyay
Draw light on the face
Reprints embedded in sanctified teardrops
No sin is committed
In being sold time and again.
Blessed are all my defeats.

English translation : Author herself

191

x¦þ {Ù»îû

’þzþ›y¤ly ¤îû†þyîû

{Ù»îû ~†þl x¦þ ö¡y†þ
¥yöì•þ ¤y˜y ¡y!‘þ
x¤¥yëû ôyl%öì£ìîû ô•þ !•þ!l
ߺöìˆÅîû îyîûy¨yëû ‰%öìîû öî’þüyl
‘%þ†þ‘%þ†þ †þöìîû ôyl%öì£ìîû †þþ›yöì¡ ö‘þyöì†þl ¡y!‘þ
{£ìê !îîÊ•þ
!‹þ!hsý•þ
þ›%öìîûyöìly ¤y•þô¥¡y îy!’þü!þîû
!îî”Å îûy†þ#ëû îyî%!þ öël
{Ù»öìîûîû ¤yöìí ¤yÇþyöì•þîû ö¡yèþ ¤†þöì¡îû¥z •þ#îÊ
˜#‰Å •þy!¡†þy
¡yèþ Çþ!•þ
ôy ‡îû‹þ
!¥öì¤î ˜!¡¡
ö†þïöìþyëû !ôöìëû îûy‡y x!èþöìëyˆ x×&
{Ù»îû xy†þy¡ þ›öì’þü þ›öì’þü ‰%öìôyl
!¤öì’þ!þèþ öll !lëû!ô•þ

G„öì†þ îöì¡ †þöìëûG †þy ¥ëûly !îö좣ì
ö‹þyöì‡îû ¤yöìí ¤yöìí †þyl
†þyöìlîû ¤yöìí ¥y•þ þ›y ô!hßìßñ
xy†þy¡ xyôyîûG ôyëûy ˜ëûy öîöì’þü öˆöìSé ‡%î
xyîû μy¡y•þl †þ!îûly
î%öì†þîû Gþ›îû ¤y˜y ‹þy˜îû öþöìl
!l!Ù‹þöìhsý öî!îûöìëû xy!¤ ‰îû öíöì†þ
{Ù»öìîûîû ô%öì‡îû ¤yöìí ô,•þ îyîyîû xy˜¡ ‡%„öì þ›y¥zœ

192

The Blind God

Upasana Sarkar
The God is a blind man
With a white stick in hand
He roams in the heaven’s corridor
Like a helpless person
With a mild worry
And embarrassment
He knocks at the foreheads of the people
Just like the pale kingly aristocrat
Of the old palatine edifice
Everyone is tempted to meet the God
With an intense
And long list of
Profit and loss
Savings and expenses
Documented in the accounts
And the tears concealed in the boxes
Nowadays the God sleeps all the time
Takes sedatives daily
Appealing to him hardly works
Ears along with the eyes
Hands legs brain along with the ears
Nowadays I’m also greatly empathetic
I don’t bother him
Pulling the blanket up over his chest
I leave the room, unperturbed
I find that the God’s face resembles my late father’s!

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

193

~†þy

xy†þy¢ îûyëû

~öì•þy öë ö²Ìöìôîû ˆyl
!lîûÇþîû þ›yëûîûy–
¤î ’þzöì’þü ëyöìî xyôyöì˜îû ö‡ëûyöì¡
ôy!þöì•þ !ô¢öìî xyëû%öìîŘ ëyþ›l– hßì¸þ ¥•þy¢y

~ôl !˜öìl ˜)öìîûîû þ›y¡öì†þ ö†þ îöì¤ xyöìSéÚ
ö†þ !¡‡öìSé þ›y•þyëû x×&öìèþyîû ˆylÚ

xyôyöì˜îû ö†þyöìly !ßiîû lÇþe öl¥z
~¥z lyô¥#l ¢¥öìîûîû x!èþô%öì‡
˜„y!’þüöìëû xy!Sé
!èþöìSé ö†þî¡ ˆyöìlîû ö˜yöìëû¡ þ›y!‡
ö¤G xy xyî#öìîûîû =„öì’þüyîû ôöì•þy ~†þy–
îû&!þîû ’þz_yöìþ›îû ôöì•þy– ~†þy

Alone

Akash Roy

So many love-songs
Pigeons – illiterate,
All will fly away in our fantasy
The Ayurvedic life, ceased despair will be shattered onto soil

On such a day, who’s sitting on the distant feather?
Who’s writing the song of tears on the leaves?

We don’t have any fixed star
I’m standing
Towards the unnamed city
Only the wagtail of my song is drenching
Today it’s also alone like the holy colours,
Alone, like the warmth of the bread

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

194

xydîûÇþy

•,þ”y ‹þe«î•þÅ#

xydîûÇþy ö†þylG ™ôÅ lëû
îîû‚ ™ôÅ¥z ¥ëû•þ xydîûÇþy ö¢‡yëû
èþyîöì•þ èþyîöì•þ ²Ìíöìô þ›yîû ¥¡yô l˜#
•þyîûþ›îû ößËy•þ
•þyîûþ›îû öì¡îû ¤ôhßì ¤ô#†þîû”ƒƒƒ
îôÅ ‡%öì¡ îûy‡¡yô
xßf– öþ›y¢y†þ
þ›!îû‹þëû ‡%öì¡ îûy‡¡yô
~î‚
ö•þyôyîû ¤#ôy¥#l ²ÌKþyîû ¤yôöìl
‡%öì¡ îûy‡¡yô ™ôÅ

xyôyîû xyîû xydîûÇþyîû ö†þylG ²Ìöìëûyl öl¥z

Self Defence

Trina Chakraborty

Self defence is no religion
Instead may be religion teaches self defence
With this in mind
I first cross the river–
Then the flow
Then all equations of water
I remove my armour
My weapons– my dress
My identity
And
In reverence to your infinite wisdom
My religion too

I do not need any self defence anymore

English Translation : Barnali Roy

195

†þ„yþyþ›í

ly!˜îûy xy¥öìô˜

xyôyîû ¥y•þ ™#öìîû ™#öìîû ¤y˜y ¥öìëû xy¤öìSé
xyîû †þ•þ!˜l ~¥zèþyöìî ™#îûþ›yöìëû ô¤,l þ›í ‡%„öìîy –
~†þ!˜l öÙ»•þ†þ!”†þy ly‹þöì•þ ly‹þöì•þ ë‡l þ›,!íî#îû îû. !ˆöì¡ ‡yöìî
xyþ›!l xyþ›lyîûy •þ‡öìly !†þ ˜yô# !îëûyöìîûîû öîy•þ¡ S%é„’þüöìîl œ
xyôyîû öì§Ãîû ¤ôëû îöìl îöìl †þ„yþy ˆyöìSéîû §Ã ¥öìëû!Sé¡–
îû_«y_« þ›y韟Ÿé !l/ߺ ¥y•þG ‡%îöì¡ ëyGëûy î%†þ !löìëû ’þzê¤öìîîû xyöì¡yëû ~öì¤!Sé
!†þS%é!˜l þ›îû xyôyîû ¤hsýyöìlîû §Ã ¥öìî韟Ÿé~‡lG þ›yöìëûîû îû_« ö™yëûy ¥ëû!lÐ
xyôyîû ô,•%þÄîû xyöìˆ xyîû ö†þyöìly ôîû&è)þ!ô îy ôy¡îy¥# ’þzöìþîû §Ã ¥öìîlyƒƒƒ
xyæþöì¤y¤ G îÄíÅ•þyîû ¤ôyíņþ ö†þyöìly ¢· ‡%„öì öþ›öì•þ ‹þy¥zly xyþ›y•þ•þƒƒƒ

The way full of throns

Nadira Ahmed
My hands are slowly turning white
And how long will I look for smooth path with slow legs like this–
One day — the white blood cells will dance and swallow the colour of this earth.
Would you still throw away a bottle of expensive beer.
At the time of my birth– a tree full of throns–was born in the forest
With bloody legs, bare hands and swollen chest– I met in the light of the festival.
In the few days my child will born-the blood of the feet has not been
washed yet.
No more desert or cargo camels will be born before I die...
I don’t want find any words synonymous with regret and failure anymore...

English translation : Author herself

196

Sé!î

¢#£ìÅy

~†þ!þ öþÆöìlîû à¥z¤¡ öþ›!îûöìëû îà˜)îû
‹þöì¡ ˆÄyöìSéy •%þ!ôÐ ¤yôöìl ¤öì£ìÅöì‡öì•þîû ¥¡%˜–
•þyîû ôöì™Ä ô%‡ ’%þ!îöìëû ¤Äy.y•þ þ›y•þyöìFSé
¼ôöìîûîû ߺîûësfÐ xyôyîû †þÄyöìôîûy •þ•þ˜)îû
öþ›ï„Séyöì•þ þ›yîûöìSé ly— •þî%G xy!ô ö˜‡öì•þ þ›y!FSé
~†þ!þ Sé!îîû ôöì™Ä ö†þôl ¤Á›†þÅ¥#l ˜%öìþy ôyl%£ì
¥yö줖 †þíy îöì¡– ‹%þô% ‡yëû xyîû •þyîûþ›îû ~†þ!˜l
öþÆöìlîû à¥z¤¡ ¥öìëû ëyëû

The Photo-frame

Shirsa
You’ve gone a long way beyond
The whistle of a train. In front of you, the yellow shades of mustard field,
Dipping their faces inside that, the bumblebees’ voice-boxes
Are making rapports. My camera can’t reach
That far; But I can still see
Inside a photo-frame, how the two distant persons
Laugh, talk, kiss and then, one day, becomes
The whistle of a train

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

197

î„y‹þî xyôîûy î„y‹þî ¤îy¥z

¤%þ›ô îûyëû Œ¤î% îy!¤¨yŠ

þ›yöìëûîû ™%öì¡y îûyhßìy ö‹þlyëû–
×!ô†þ ¥„yöìþ îy!’þüîû !˜†þ
ˆèþÅî•þ#îû †þy§¬y îÄíy
îy’þüöìSé îy’þY†þ– ¤yôöì¡ !l†þÐ
¥„yþyîû ö†þyíyëû ö¢£ì îûöìëûöìSé
îy!’þüîû ‹þy¡öì•þy xöìl†þ ˜)îûœ
ôîûöì•þ ¥öì¡¥z ôîûöìî þ›öìí
ö†þyayG öl¥z– öl¥z à%îûÐ
ô¥yôyîû# èþ#£ì” èþyîû#–
~öì†þ†þ †þöìîû ôyîûöìSé ö˜¢Ð
ô¢y¡ ~‡l ¤îyîû ¥yöì•þ
μy!¡öìëû îûyöì‡y ~¥z xèþÄy¤Ð
î„y‹þî xyôîûy î„y‹þî ¤îy¥z
¥yöì•þîû ’þzþ›îû íy†þöìî ¥y•þ–
¡’þüy¥z •þî% íy†þöìî y!îû
!˜öìlîû þ›öìîû xy¤%†þ îûy•þÐ

198

We All Will Live

Supam Roy (Sobuj Basinda)
The feet-dust dictates the way,
Workers walk towards their homes
Let the cry and pain of the pregnants
Increase, let them take care of that.
Where’s the end of this journey
Rooftop of the house is still far away!
If they’ve die, will die on the roads
There’s a place nowhere, O lord.
It’s a heavy pandemic,
Killing the countries one-by-one.
Everyone has a flare in the hands
Let this habit remain lit.
We all will live
Will live hand-in-hand,
The fight will go on anyway
Even if night comes after day.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

199

èþy’þüy îy!’þüîû ¤‚¤yîû

¤%!ô•þ ô[þ¡

xyôyîû !lßº%þ†%þ î¡öì•þ !Sé¡éŸéþ›)öìîÅîû yly¡y–
öSéyöìþy èþy’þüy îy!’þü xyîû ~†þ!þ •%þ¡¤# ‹þyîûyÐ
îy!’þüîû þ›yöì¢ !¢ô%¡ ˆyöìSé–
¤öì¦þÄ ¥öì¡ !èþ’þü †þöìîû îöì¤éŸŸŸé
¤y˜y î†þ— ~†þþy î%öì’þüy öþ›„‹þyÐ
xyöì¡y !löìèþ ëyGëûy ¢¥öìîûîû– ˆÒ îöì¡ !lÅl•þyëûÐ
~¥z ¢#öì•þ öîûy ¤†þyöì¡ ˆyl Ö!löìëû ‹þöì¡ ëyëû
~†þ ¢y!¡†þÐ ¤öì¦þÄ ¥öì¡¥z韟Ÿé
#îöìlîû ˆÒ ö¢ylyöì•þ xyöì¤ î,kþ ôy!¡†þÐ
¢îû#îû ß›¢Å †þîûy îy•þy¤
¢#öì•þîû öîûyöì˜ ‰%ô èþy.öìly ˜%öìþy ö‹þy‡
§Ã!˜öìl ’þzþ›¥yîû !˜öìëû!Sé¡ ~†þ ²Ì!•þöìî¢#Ð
ôy!¡†þ ‹þöì¡ ëyîyîû þ›îû ¤îy¥z !æþöìîû öˆöìSé !l‰öìîû–
xyîyîû ~†þ!þ îy!’þü þ›!îûî•þÅlÐ
xyôyîû î¡öì•þ öíöì†þ öˆöìS韟Ÿé~†þ!þ •%þ¡¤# ˆySéÐ

200