World Poetry Festival magazine 2021

The face of afternoon

Nilima Saha
In the dancing smokes from the tea-cups, eager waiting itself looks up at
the face of afternoon-this is now underlined by a specific mark drawn on
an updated modernist mirror. A surrealist world on canvas touching massive
waves one after another, a sailboat snapped of sails in whirling water. The
wavering life after going past by the floating garbages, can hear unknown
vocabularies along cascades under the bridge named Bali bridge.
On the heaps of honour-gifts bearing up worldly pains and rejoices to which
knelt down desirable practicabilities of the eternal dreams of life, are now
gradually being washed out of the folded palms. The life knows well the
death followed by birth. In between exist, while we go up the stairs, our
broken tape-records.
Sewing the soothing cool-mat of the century, the days-months-years
teach how to lead forward. While stepping on, is suddenly found fever of
negligence on the part of firefly lights that cast on disorderly hairs.
Silent experiences learnt from life-the conversation at an attic played in
different tunes. I am stunned to see my love-affairs has already deserted.
And the person too has deserted who rubs out the clouds from the glasses
held by certain Batsayana, before taking every sip. In the midst of it, the face
of afternoon and the thought of study materials comprising books and pens,
fumble with the dictionary of unrevealed words. They can see a religious
beggar fallen in another love, singing wakeful songs of hopes, has already
slept like a dormant bookmark.
Before my poetry remains an unequivocal light having loss of concern, loss
of relation, a window half-opened in darkness and the face of afternoon still
eagerly waiting to say something.

English translation : Alok Biswas

51

!î£ìy˜îûy‚•þyîû þ›y•þy

öˆï•þô ö¥„¤

xþ›•þÄ!î¨%öì•þ öîyîy xÙÂæ%þ¡ xyîû †%þöìþy†þíy ‡öì¤ þ›öì’þü—
¥y•þ öl¥z þ›y öl¥z— !˜¢y öþ›öìëû öîûyj%öìîûîû ¥Éöì˜ !˜l ëyëû–
!î£ìy˜îûy‚•þyîû þ›y•þy ¥yy öì¡ èþy¤öì•þ—
¤#ôyhsý lÇþe öíöì†þ e«ôyˆ•þ ôySé†%þôyîû#îû †þ¡öìîûy¡ƒƒƒ
!æÊþöì¡ ‰öì£ì ‰öì£ì ™y•þî ëy•þly þ›îû‡ †þ!îû– cöì†þ cöì†þ ‰!£ì
¤%‡ ¤%‡ î¡öì•þ¥z x¦þöìßËy•þ öèþöì¤ öèþöì¤ ëyëû
˜¢ ¥y•þ îy!’þüöìëû ‰%öìîû ‰%öìîû xy¢y¥•þy¢yëû Çþëû!î¨%îû †þíy î¡!Sé
öî¡y %öì’þü Ööìëû xyöìSé l¡‡yˆ’þüyîû ‹þîû—
’þzî% ¥öìëû îöì¤ xy!Sé–
îûy!e¡ îûyô™l% ¼&” ¥öìëû lyôöì•þ¥z ö˜!‡–
î#²Ìy” ¥yöì•þ !löìëû îû&‡% ‹þöìîû ~†þ ‹þÇ%þ Séyëûy韟é
xyôyîû ’%þöìîû!þ !Sé„öì’þü xy ‹þöì¡ ëyöìî l#¥yîû ¥yGëûyëûƒƒƒ

52

Dazzling Melancholy

Gautam Hensh
Frozen-flowers and puzzling words
Drift aiming at child-carnival;
No hands, no feet,
Only a lighted signal the days behold
To drib in swimming amid the lake of sunshine,
Rotten leaves of dazzling melancholy
floating in water;
Ceaseless chaos of mermaids
from the border-stars...
try to feel the metalic pain
Rubbing myself with the frill,
Rubbing skin with skin
With my deliberate ‘happy’ utterings
Blind-folded waves floating away,
Stretching my invisible hands
Roaming here and there
With hope and despair
Ddemonstrating ruining-reach at random;
clump of reeds lying on entire time-zone
As soon as night-water
Dripping on deserted sand-bank
Sitting as broken mummy, I do feel,
Holding seed-life on palm
An one-eyed shadow replicating embryonic-rainbow
Tearing human vagina
Would blow away with snow-strom...

English translation : Pranab Chakraborty

53

ö¥ îûî#w– •%þ!ô¥z ö¢‡yöì¡

¤öìhsýy£ì !¤‚¥

öë ö˜öì¢ †þy˜!Áºl# ô!îûëûy ²Ìôy” †þöìîû– ö¤ ôöìîû ly¥z韟Ÿé
ö¤¥z ö˜öì¢îû öæþöìîû¢•þy •%þ!ô /
ö•þyôyöì†þ ²Ì”yô †þîûöì•þ ˜)îû
ö•þyôyöì†þ èþyöì¡yîy¤öì•þG ˜)îû
ö•þyôyîû †þyöìSé ò˜)îûc¥zó xyôyöì˜îû ~†þôye èþîû¤yŸŸŸé
òö¤¥z ö˜¢ó ö•þyôyîûG öë ôy•,þè)þ!ôŸŸŸé
~¥z öèþöìî ëyîû ¥yöì•þ îûy‡#!þ þ›îûy¥z
•%þ!ô¥z ö¢‡yöì¡– ö¥ îûî#w– ˜y!îûoÄéŸéöîû‡yîû l#öì‹þ
ö¤ xyôyîû¥z– xyôyöì˜îû¥z !²Ìëû ˆyléŸéèþy¥zœ

O Rabindra, Only You Taught

Santosh Singha

In the country where Kadambini’s death proves that she had not died yet–
You are the angel of that country :
To worship you distant
To love you distant
To you only the ‘distance’ is our sole faith–
‘That country’ is also your motherland–
Considering this, in whose hand I tie the Rakhi
Only you taught, O Rabindra, below the poverty-line
He is mine, our beloved brother of songs!

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

54

#îl ~†þ l˜#

!l•þÄyl¨ ö‰y£ì

#îl ~†þ l˜# ~‡yöìl !†þS%é ¡ xyöìSé
˜%óþ›yöì¢ •þ#öìîû ö†þyl ˆySéþ›y¡y öl¥z lÄy’þüy ôy‘þ
¢)lÄ xy†þyöì¢îû î%öì†þ ¤y˜y öôöì‰îû öô‡¡y
èþy¤ôyl þ›y!‡îû ô•þl ’þzöì’þü ‹þöì¡ ëyëû
ö†þyíyëû ö†þyl ö˜öì¢ îy!’þü‰îû æþ„y†þy þ›öì’þü xyöìSé •þyîû
’þzöì˜yô †þþ›yþ xy¡%íy¡% öî¢ !îîßfy lyîû#îû ô•þl
~‡yöìl !†þ xyöì¡y xyöìSé x¦þ†þyîû èþyîû#
ô@À ö˜ëûyöì¡îû ˆyöìëû ö†þ öîûöì‡ ëyëû !¡!þ›îû x„y‹þ’þü

Life is a River

Nityananda Ghosh
Life is a river, some water is there
Either side on the banks no trees are there, only bald fields
A cincture of white clouds in the empty sky
Flies away like the floating birds
Where, in which country, its home is Lying vacant
Doors are disorganized like a naked woman
Is there any light, deep darkness instead
On the submerged walls, someone leaves the scratches of inscription

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

55

‹%þ!l ö†þyþyöì¡îû ’þy¥z!îû

xO!¡ ˜y¢

•,þ•þ#ëûîyîû þ›¡†þ •%þ¡öì•þ¥z–
x¦þ†þyîû ö‡¡yîû ö†þ è%þöì¡ öˆöì¡l
²Ì”ôÄ xyöì¡y†þ˜y•þyÐ
æþ¤Åy ¥öìëû ’þzöì‘þöìSé ö˜ëûy¡–
ôyíy öíöì†þ ‡%öì¡ þ›öì’þüöìSé ¢yþ›éŸé¢yþ›yöìhsýîû öô‡¡yÐ
ö‹þy‡ î%„öì S%é„öì’þü öæþöì¡ !˜¡yô !¤¨%öì†þîû ‹þy!îÐ
þ›öì’þü !lG †þ•þîyîû ly ly ö¡‡y xyöìSé ö‘þ„yöìþ–
xyîû !èþ ö†þl †,þ£î”Å韟ŸéG%þ†%þ ylyöì•þ þ›y!îû!l ö¢£ì þ›ëÅhsýÐ
Ö™% †þþ›yöì¡îû ‹þyô’þüy ¤!îûöìëû ö˜‡yöì•þ ‹þy¥z–
xyîû ~†þ!þ ¤î% îûöì.îû öÙÕöìþ ö¤ylyîû öì¡îû Sé!îÐ
†þ•þ ëöìb ôy !¡öì‡öìSé î’þü ¥G–
ôy !¡öì‡öìSé ˆyöìSéîû Séyëûyîû ôöì•þy ¤!•þÄ ¥GÐ
ylyöì•þ ‹þy¥z– †þ•þîyîû ôyíy l%¥zöìëû •þöìî
ô¥y¢)öìlÄîû ¤ôhßì èþîû ¤¥Ä †þöìîû!Sé ~†þyƒƒƒÐ xy ‰%ôÐ
xy ôyíyîû ‹þyîûþ›yöì¢ ‹þ„y˜ •þyîûyîû ôy¡yÐ
¥y•þ•þy!¡ ö˜öìî lyÚ

56

The Diary of Chuni Kotal

Anjali Das
At the third blink of the eyes,
the venerated giver of light forgot
how to play the game of darkness.
The walls have got paler,
the veil of sins and curses has slipped off,
I shut my eyes and throw away the keys of
the treasure chest.
Read how many times the word ‘no’
is inscribed on the lips.
And why the tongue is blue - that’s one thing
I couldn’t tell them in the end.
I just want to part the skin on my forehead
and show you the picture etched in gold
on the other green slate.
With what care Ma has written,
Be successful, be true like the shade of a tree.
I want to tell you how many times
I had to bow my head to carry the enormous
weight of outer space, of the great nothingness, alone... today sleep.
Today, my head is garlanded by the stars and the moon. Won’t you clap?

English translation : Antara Dev Sen

57

@ýÌ#öìÜ¿îû †þ!î•þy

÷¤ëû˜ †þG¤îû yôy¡

1
î†%þ¡ æ%þöì¡îûy ‡%î öSéyöìþy– •þyîûyG ¤‚¥!•þîû xíÅ ööìlöìSé
•þyöì˜îû !ô!þ‚ xy îöì’þüy ˆySé!þîû l#öì‹þ
ö†þyíyëû öîöì™öìSé öˆy¡ öþ›ëûy¡y !þ›!îûöì‹þÚ
ë!˜ î„yöì‹þy– ö˜‡öìî ¤îy¥z æ%þ¡ ¥yöì•þ ß%ñ¡îy!’þü!þîû !˜öì†þ öˆöìSéÐ
3
²Ì‡îû öîûyöì˜G !†þS%é ‰y¤ ˆySéþ›y¡y ööìˆ Göì‘þ ‹%þ!þ›¤yöìîû
#îlî,_yhsý !†þS%é ö¤¥zèþyöìî– ôyl%£ì !†þ yöìl
öîôylyl xy¡‡yÍÔy!þîû ôyöìlÚ
îy•þyöì¤ xy˜Å•þy ë•þ îyöì’þü– xyôyöì˜îû Ù»y¤†þÜT •þ•þ îyöì’þüÐ

Poetry of the Summer

Syed Kawsar Jamal
1
Bakul flowers are very tiny; they’ve also known the meaning of solidarity
They’ve a meeting today beneath the big tree
Where is the conflict arisen between cups and plates?
If you survive, you’ll see that everyone has gone towards the school-build-
ing with a bouquet in hand.
3
Even in the scorching sun some grass and plants wake up silently
Biography is something like that, do people know
What’s the significance of the misfit cloak?
As the humidity increases in the air, increases our trouble in breathing.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

58

›)îÅyèþy£ì

÷‹þ•þy¡# ‹þöìRyþ›y™Äyëû

SéyëûyÚ !Sé¡ ly ö†þylG– Ö™% ¤öìîûéŸé¤öìîû ëyGëûy
l˜#Ú xyôyîû ly– Gîû ôöìl þ›y•þy xyöìSé
ˆylÚ ~†þîyîû Ö!löìëû!Sé– !‹þöìlþy’þzöìlîû öôy’þü ‰%öìîû
ö¤•%þÚ ö¤¥z öë öîy†þyîû ôöì•þy ¥y•þ!‹þ!‘þ=!¡
î„y!¢Ú îy¡– ¤îÅly¢ ‰öìþ öˆ¡

Forecast

Chaitali Chattopadhyay
Shadow? There was none, only receding there was
River? It’s spread in his heart, not mine
Song? I’ve sung once, while crossing the China-town junction
Bridge? Foolish epistles those were
Flute? Catastrophe happened as soon as it started playing

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

59

!loy¥#l îûyöì•þ

{!¢•þy èþy˜%’þü#

¥y•þ îy!’þüöìëû !îSéylyëû ~†þy ô™Äîûy•þ
~î‚ !loy¥#l ߺ²Àî,_yhsý
xyöìÜTþ›,öìÛþƒƒƒ
‰löì‰yîû x¦þ†þyöìîû
ߺ²À ~î‚ x!loy þ›y¢yþ›y!¢–
~†þ †þ!‘þl x¤%‡Ð
~î‚ !loy¥#l îûyöì•þ ™)¤îû þ›%lÅ§Ã–
ö¤ xyöìîû†þ îÄy!™Ð !îèþ#!£ì†þyôëûÐ
x!loy xyöìîûyÐ

At the Sleepless Night

Ishita Bhaduri
Lonely midnight on the bed, raising its hands
And the sleepless nightmares
Holding tightly…
In the dense gloom
Dream and insomnia side by side,
Is a severe sickness.
And the grey rebirths at the sleepless nights,
That’s another ailment. Horrible.
Insomnia–more and more.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

60

xylyöìîû ¤%îûî é1

ö˜îëyl# î¤%

¥Îþ î¡öì¡¥z ˜„y!’þüöìëû öëöì•þ þ›yöìîû öë ¤î !˜l=!¡ ö¤=öì¡y ¡y!ˆöìëû !˜öìëû!Sé ö•þyôyîû G xyôyîû þ›y’þüyëûÐ ö•þyôyîû þ›y’þüyëû
xÙ»öì†þ¢îû Vþîûy öîû”% ’þzIμ¡ ö˜y†þyl îyyîûÐ e«yސþ þ›yæþ öæÏþ!†þ ôyl%öì£ìîû ô%‡ îy•þyöì¤ ö˜yöì¡Ð ôyíy ölyëûyöìly Göìëû¡†þyô
ö‹þï†þyöì‘þÐ ¡yˆyôèþîûy !¡!îöì’þy !löìëû ö‰y’þüy l˜# þ›yîû ¥ëûÐ xöìl†þ l†þ¡ •%þöì¡y þ›¡y¢ æþy!þöìëû !˜öìëûöìSé îûyhßìyëûÐ xyôyîû
¤%îû ô™Äë%ˆ#ëû ˆ’þü öíöì†þ ö•þyôyöì†þ lyôyëûÐ !‰!Oˆ!¡öì•þ •þy!îûæþ V%„þöì†þ þ›öì’þü öþ›ëûyîûyëû ¢¤yëû þ›y!læþöì¡Ð

Cordial melodies of vegetables 1

Debjani Basu
As I say, ‘halt’– some days with dates stand still. I have marked them
seperately in both your and my area. In your area– all the markets and
shops are brightened with powder showering from horse’s mane. Human
faces brimmed with crust puff and flaky swinging in the air. You will
enjoy bowing welcome at the doorstep. A horse hoofs across the river with
its bridle full of libido. Huge lumps of artificial cotton have bursted out on
the road as flower Palash. My melody brings you down off your mediaeval
Fort. Applauses seem to flight on guava cucumber and water chestnut in the
congested lane.

English translation : Alok Biswas

61

x¥‚

x˜#þ› ö‰y£ì

öî„öìþ ö¡y†þþy ¤yôöìl xy¤öì•þ¥z xy!ô öî¢ ¡Áºy ¥öìëû ëy¥z

öî„öìþ ö¡y†þþyîû †þyöìSé xyôyîû †,þ•þKþ•þyîû ö¢£ì öl¥z

!†þv •þyöì†þ ™lÄîy˜ ylyîyîû xyö숥z ~†þþy ¡Áºy ö¡y†þ xyôyîû þ›yöì¢ ~öì¤ ˜„y’þüyëû

xy!ô öî„öìþ ¥öìëû ëy¥z

‹%þþ›¤yöìly öî¡%öìlîû ôöì™Ä “%þöì†þ !löìöì†þ ¡%öì†þyöì•þ ‹þy¥z

xyëûlyëû ~†þþy !lþ›yþ ˆöìîöìþîû ô%‡ xyôyöì†þ öˆyô’þüy ô%öì‡ ö˜öì‡

ˆy =!¡öìëû Göì‘þ ö‹þy‡ î%!

èþy.yöì‹þyîûy x¦þ†þyöìîû ö¤¥z öî„öìþ xyîû ¡Áºy ö¡y†þ˜%öìþy

~ Göì†þ !’þüöìëû ™öìîû ¥Äy„ ¥Äy„ ¥y¤öì•þ ¥y¤öì•þ

xyôyîû Séyëûyëû “%þöì†þ ëyëû

The Ego

Adip Ghosh

As soon as the short man comes in front of me, I get pretty taller
I am endlessly grateful to the short man
But even before thanking him a tall man comes and stands beside me
I get shorter
Try to hide myself, entering into a squeezed balloon
A face of an absolute idiot observes me from the mirror with a grumpy outlook
I feel vomiting Shut my eyes
In the shattered darkness, those two men–one short and another tall–
Hugging each other, laughing loudly,
Enters my shadow

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

62

öˆïîû!l•þy¥z ˆySé

²Ì¢yhsý ôÍÔ

†þyîû‡yly îy’þü#öì•þ öˆïîû!l•þy¥z ˆySé
†þ#•þÅl †þöìîûÐ x!îîûyô ö‡y¡ †þîû•þy¡
öël îyà™ç!l •%þöì¡ x¤#ôöì†þ ’þyöì†þ
~¥z ’Èþyô– ö¡y¥y– èþy.y öô!¤öìl ôy!þ
!†þ †þöìîû ¢‹þ#ˆèþÅ ¥¡ŸŸŸé!†þèþyöìî eöìëûy˜¢ ôy¤
ˆöìèþÅ ö’þöì†þ öˆ¡ îyl
öô!¢l öe«l æþîû†þ!¡èþyîû ‰%ô%öì¡
¢îûöì•þîû !î†þyöì¡ xy!ô ëy¥z– !lÅl•þyëû
ööìˆ Göì‘þ lîm#þ› @ýÌyô
!î£%!²Ìëûyîû ¥y!¤ ¥öìëû ¥yGëûy ~öì¡ ²Ìæ%þ!ÍÔ•þ
x¢í´ !‹þî%†þŸŸŸé†þ‡lG öˆyþ›#èþyöìî öëïîl ô%oy ™öìîû
†þ‡lG l,!¤‚¥èþyöìî öˆïîû¥!îû– ˆ˜y¥öìhßì ˜yþ›y˜y!þ›
Ö™%ôye ëîl†þy# èþöìëûîû ߺ²À ö˜öì‡ly
x÷ìm•þ îþ– x%Ål ˆ˜y™îû韟Ÿé×#!îͺ ×#îy¤
öVþyþ›Vþy’þü– •,þöì”îû ôöì•þy韟Ÿéë•þ lîm#þ›îy¤#
†%þ!¡†þ#•þÅöìl ôyöì•þŸŸŸé
ò¥!îû î¡öì•þ lëûl Vþöìîû– •þyîûy

•þyîûy ˜%èþy¥z ~öì¤öìSé öîûóÐ

63

The Gaurnetai Tree

Prashanta Malla
The Gaurnetai tree at the factory house
Sings the Kirtana. As if the Khols and the Karatalas
Invoke the infinite with their claps
How these drums, steel, this soil in the broken machines
Became the womb of Sachi – how the thirteenth month
Flooded the womb
After the machines, cranes and fork-livers fall asleep
I go there, in the solitude, in the autumn evenings
The village of Nabadwip wakes up
Being the smile of Bishnupriya, when the delightful wind comes,
The peepul tree chin – sometimes takes up the posture of youth like the Gopis
Sometimes Gaurhari like the Lord Nrisingha, being violent with a Gada (cudgel) in hand
Only the Yavan Kazi doesn’t get any scary dream
Advaita Bata (banyan tree), Arjuna Gadadhara – Shribilva Shribasa
Shrubs, like the grass–all the inhabitants of Nabadwip
Overwhelmingly participate in the Kulikirtana–
‘Eyes burst into tears while uttering the name of Hari,

Two of their brothers have come’.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

64

ˆ#•þ!î•þyl

!¢îy!¢¤ ô%öì‡yþ›y™Äyëû

²Ì”yô öîûöì‡!Sé þ›yöìëû
xy!îöìîû G æ%þöì¡–
xyþ›lyîû §Ã!˜öìl
ˆyöìlîû ¥zß%ñöì¡Ð
ôöìl ôöìl ~!ˆöìëû!Sé
=!þ =!þ þ›yöìëû–
~†þ!˜l öþ›ï„öìSéG öˆ!Sé
þ›)y þ›ëÅyöìëûÐ
þ›y•þy ’þzöìΐþ •þyîûþ›îû
þ›)y öíöì†þ ö²Ìöìô–
#îöìl ²Ìíôîyîû
þ›öì’þü!Sé ²Ìîöì¡öìôÐ
¤ôy™yl yly öl¥z
•þyöì•þ †þ#éŸé¥z îy Çþ!•þÚ
‹%þô%îû ¢·¥z ôsf
xy˜îû¥z xyîû!•þœ

65

Geetabitan

Shibashis Mukhopadhyay
I’ve kept my prostration on your feet
With flowers and the holy colours
On your birthday
In my music-school.
I’ve proceeded in mind
Gradually,
One day I arrived also
In the Puja-parjaya.
Then, turning the page
From Puja to Prem,
The very first time in my life
I faced a trouble.
Unknown is the solution
But, what’s the harm in it?
The sound of kiss is my chant
The affection, worship!

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

66

öþ›þ›yîûGöìëûþ

ô%¥Á¿˜ ô!•þ’þzÍÔy¥ä

¤ôhßì ˜%þ›%îû xyîû îyîyîû ö‹þyöì‡îû ’þz˜y¤#l•þy %öì’þü hßì¸þ öþ!î¡
•þyîû öèþ•þîû ööìˆ xyöìSé öþ›þ›yîûGöìëûþ
ôyöìSéîû þ›#öì•þîû ô•þ îû.– ˆyöìëû ¥¡%˜ ˜yˆ– èþëû‚†þîû îy‰ lëû
Ö™% hßì¸þ•þyîû– ²ÌbéŸé²Ì¥öìîûîû Séy¥z ‹þyþ›y xy=l
þ›y[%þ!¡!þ› !Sé„öì’þü ö¢£ì ¥ëû îy•þyöì¤îû èþyöìîûÐ xîl•þ ¤¦þÄyëû
îyîyîû •þ¤!î¥ %öì’þü ™ç!l•þ ôöìsfyF‹þyîû”— xyd#îl#îû
²Ìíô þ›y•þyëû ‹%þþ›‹þyþ› îöì¤ íyöì†þ !lîû#¥ öþ›þ›yîûGöìëûþ

Paperweight

Md. Matiullah
The entire midday and the static table across the apathy of father’s eyes
Inside that the paperweight is awake
Coloured like fish-citrine, yellow marks all over the skin, not a frightful tiger
Just the dormant fire of silence and antiquity
Manuscript ends up being torn with the loads of wind. In the humble evenings
Mantras are chanted across father’s Tasbih; on the
First page of the autobiography, the innocent paperweight sits quietly

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

67

þy¥zˆyîû ö²ÌyöìQ

¤%î#îû ¤îû†þyîû

¤%•þîûy‚ !î£ìëû þ›yöìΐþ ëyëûÐ ¤y˜y öîû‡y ™öìîû ~öì†þ ~öì†þ ‹þöì¡ öˆ¡ îûˆîûöìˆ ö²Ìô– !æÏþôˆyl韟é
¡y%†þ ¥y!¤ xyîû ôyíyîÄíy !löìëû ö¥„öìþ öëöì•þ ¥öìî
ëyþ›lþ›öìîÅ ¥yþîy¤ ëyëûÐ ~†þ!þG =!¡îû ¢·

ˆyl íyôyöì•þ þ›yöìîû lyÐ
þ›y!‡ôyîûy î¨%†þ ¥yöì•þ xyôyöì˜îû öôy¥ôëû !îhßìyîû
†þyˆöìîû hß)ìöìþ› xy=l μöì¡ Göì‘þ韟é
ˆye˜y¥ ô™Äþ›öìîÅ •þî%G xhsý¥#l ö†þyîûy¤
ôöìl þ›öì’þü ¡Zþl !l!èþöìëû !æþöìîû xy¤îyîû xöìþ›Çþy
‰þly îûþlyîû ë%ˆ¡!ô¡l xyîû öy•þ!ôöì•þ

¡yöì¢îû þ›y¥y’þü
î,!ÜTîû !æþl!†þ öSéyöìþÐ þ›y•þy ö˜yöì¡ öèþy ¥yGëûyëû
¢öì·îû îyˆyöìl “%þöì†þ þ›’þüy ö“þîû èþyöì¡yÐ ²Ìyhsý!î¨%

S%é„öìëû !‹þ†þl
¥y!¤éŸŸé
¤%•þîûy‚ ¤î%öìîû Gþ›îû î¤y¡yô ¤y˜y îû. xyîû
‰%ôþ›y’þüy!l ö˜y¡ly

68

Tiger Project

Subir Sarkar
Then the context changes. Years passed with Cheesy
Love, film songs -
I have to walk with a shy smile and a headache
A life traded in the market. Not even a single bullet
Can stop the tune.
We magically spread with airguns
(and) Piles of papers burn out -
Yet an irritating midsummer turns on an endless chorus
As we remember the time of reliance, to douse the lamp
To return
(and) Truth marries hearsay and prairie sees the heaps of dead
The rain gushes out. The wet spring shivers through plants
It is good to hide within the words. Dews drop to a lustrous
Smile -
Therefore, I painted white upon green and
a lulling cradle

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

69

xyôyöì˜îû !îî•þÅl

!˜¢yîû# ô%öì‡yþ›y™Äyëû

xyôîûy ö†þ’þz¥z ö†þyöìly!˜l ¤!‘þ†þ æþöì¡îû ˆySé !‹þlöì•þ þ›y!îû!l

xyôyöì˜îû ¢îû#öìîûîû lÄ þ›%!ÜT ˜îû†þyîûÐ þ›%!ÜTöì•þ Ökþ•þy
Ökþ•þy ¢·!þîû ¤yôöìl xöìl†þ ²ÌÙÀ ~öì¤ ˜„y’þüyëû x!lîyëÅ

ôyl%£ì ~†þ!˜l Döì¡îû ¤öìD ¤¥îy¤ †þîûöì•þyÐ îlIJÌy”#îûy
ߺ‹þöìÇþ ö˜öì‡öìSé •þyöì˜îû ö²Ìô ö˜Gëûy ölGëûyîû ö‹þï£ì!R†þ¡y
ö†þ †þyöì†þ ²Ìíô !¢!‡öìëû!Sé¡– ö†þ’þz èþyöìî!l †þ‡öìly

þ›y•þy Vþöìîû ëyGëûy xyîû ˆ!öìëû G‘þyîû ôyöìVþ xöìl†þ þ›îÅ íy†þ•þ
ö¤‡yöìl •þyîûy !†þS%é ™ç!l þ›%„öì•þ îûy‡•þ– †þyîû” !Sé¡ xyly
þ›öìîû ~†þ!˜l– lyô !˜öì•þ !¢‡¡ ë‡l– î¡¡ ~þy ö²Ìô
Gþy !ô¡lÐ !îöìFSé˜ ¢·þy Göì˜îû •þy’þüy †þöìîû!Sé¡ xöìl†þ þ›öìîû

Our evolution

Dishari Mukhopadhyay
We have never being able to identify that right fruit tree.
we need nutrition for us. Nutrition means purity.
On this word purity multiple questions arise obviously.
Man used to live in with forest. The wild animals
have seen all those arts of their love making
nobody thought about who taught whom.
There were multiple episodes in between fall and growth of leaves
Where they used to bury some sounds, unreasonably
Later, when they learned naming, called them love
It is that concurrence. Parting followed them after a long time.

English translation : Rituparna Biswas Sarkar

70

ö²Ìöìôîû ˆÒ

ëöì¢y™îûy îûyëûöì‹þï™%îû#

1
l˜#!þ ‡îûöìßËy•þyÐ
•þ#öìîû •þyîû öî!Méþ þ›y•þyÐ
öôöìëû!þ xyd†þíyëûÐ
öSéöì¡!þ ‡yîûyþ› ö×y•þyÐ
2
²Ì!•þîyîû l•%þl ¥öìîyÐ
~þy ö•þy ˜y!ëûc ‡%îÐ
•þöìî xy þ›%öìîûyöìly ~†þ
þ›%†%þöìîû¥z !˜öìëû!Sé ’%þîÐ

The Love Story

Yashodhara Roychowdhury
1
The river is fast flowing.
There are benches on its shore.
The girl is narrating her autobiography.
The boy is a bad listener.
2
Every time I’ll be new.
This is a big responsibility.
But today I’ve dived
Into an old pool.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

71

l †þ#þ¤ Œ1795ŸŸé1821Š

îû•þ†þy!hsý !¤‚¥öì‹þï™%îû#

öël •þ„yîû !æþîûîyîû •þy’þüy •þ„yöì†þ •þy!’þüöìëû !æþöìîûöìSé
§ÃèþîûŸŸé~¥zèþyöìî xí‹þ ¤Áº,•þ•þô ߺöìîû
˜%éŸé~†þ!þ îû&!îû †þíy Sé!î xyîû ¤%öìîûîû èþy£ìyëû
ööìl G y!löìëû !•þ!l öî!îûöìëû öˆöì¡l— ö¤¥z öíöì†þ
¤%¨öìîûîû ¤•þÄ ’þzöì§Ãy!‹þ•þ– !î£ìyöì˜îû îy¤è)þ!ô
ö¤ï¨ëÅô!¨öìîû韟éö¤¥z öíöì†þ x×&îû ô•þl !˜l
Vþöìîû öˆöì¡ x×&•þ ¤‚ˆ#•þ•,þ£y î%öì†þ †þöìîû
îûy!e yöìˆ e«ô¢ æþÄy†þyöì¤ ¥öìëû xy¤y xô¡ !†þöì¢yîû
†þ!î•þy ‰%!ôöìëû þ›öì’þü îû_«îûyöìˆ öì¡ !¡öì‡ lyô
•þî% yöìˆ æþ¡èþîûy }•%þŸŸé›,!íî#îû î,¨ˆylÐ

John Keats (1795-1821)

Rajatkanti Singhachowdhury
As if a sense of urgency
Chased him through his brief sojourn,
In such manner, yet in a cool composed way
The nightingale sang few melodies unheard
In most tender, dreamlike voice.
Thence the joy of beauty has been revealed
Melancholy finds its permanence in Beauty’s shrine,
As drowsy day passes away like a fragile dewdrop,
Sleepless night waits with the thirst of divine melodious truth.
Crimson evening clouds in the horizon sinks with its name write in water.

English translation : Author himself

72

xyþ› ¢y!hsýþ›%îû

ö˜îöìÄy!•þ îûyëû

’þz§Ãy˜ yöìl ly !†þS%é– Ö™% ~†þ x!ßiîû ¥z¢yîûy
•þyöì†þ öþöìl !löìëû ëyëû xyÙ‹þëÅ Kþyöìlîû !˜öì†þ
ôyl!‹þöìe æ%þöìþ Göì‘þ î†%þ¡– þ›¡y¢Ð
xîy™Ä !lëû!•þ xyîû îû¥¤Äöìþ›l!¤¡ !löìëû ö†þöìþöìSé x¡¤ !˜l
²Ì¥öìîûîû þ›îûÁ›îûy xîy†þ ‰%!’þüîû ôöì•þy Göì’þü
¡yèþyöìßËy•þ þ›y†þ ‡yëû ôyíyîû öèþ•þîû
˜%¥z‡y!l ¡%¸þ ö‹þyöì‡ ööìˆ xyöìSé ôÄy!†þ¡tþl
þ›˜Åy %öì’þü öîû‡y!‹þe– xyöì¡ëûyîû xyèþy
¢îû#öìîûîû !îîû&kþ ¤D#•þÐ
xíîy ‹þ„yöì˜îû ˆÒ– lÁË xyöì¡y– ôyëûy‹þ•%þ˜Å¢#
îûy†þyîû ¡y%†þ !îèþy– xhsýîûyöì¡ îyöì xy¢yî!îûÐ
è)þöìˆyöì¡îû xl%£ìD öíöì†þ {£ìê ˜)îûöìc
îÄ!_«ˆ•þ öîû¡¡y¥zl– þ›îûî•þÅ# ²ÕÄyþæþôÅ–
†þy!¥!lîû ‹þy†þy
¤‚öì†þ•þ ’þzöìþ›Çþy †þöìîû ‹þöì¡ ëyöìFSé xyþ› ¢y!hsýþ›%îû

73

Up Shantipore

Debajyoti Roy
A sane knows nothing but an uncertain signal
Draws him to a mythical knowledge
As maps show buds, the flame of the forest.
The day’s been passed with an enigmatic destiny and a mystery pencil
Threads of time jolt at one another
(while) Magma flows within the brain
The greedy eyes of the magic lantern flicker
A canvas full of lines, the light of fen-fire
Keep humming against the skin.
Or, a moonlit story, a tender light of a sorcerous evening
An iffy luster on the foreground of a nocturnal tune.
Far from the amour of topography
An intimate rail-line, the next platform,
The wheels of stories
Up Shantipore moves on scorning the signal

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

74

¤yöì¥î !î!î öˆy¡yô

x!@À îûyëû

l%þ›)îû öíöì†þ !‹þîû†þy¡ è%þ¡ l#!•þ!¢Çþy
öþ›öìëûöìSéy è)þ•þlyí
xyîû ö•þyôyîû !î!îîû öíöì†þ ߬ylœ
xyöì¡y ö†„þöìþ› öˆöì¡
öˆy¡yôéŸé‰öìîûîû †þyöìSé ~öì¤ îöì¤ îû.–
ë!˜G ö•þyôyîû ’þylyîû ôyöìVþ
x¦þ†þyîû “þy¡
ë!˜G ö•þyôyîû †þ!lÛþ xy.%öì¡îû îÄíyëû
xyôyöì˜îû ¤y!îûˆyl l#¡ ¥öìëû xyöìSéœ
•%þ!ô yöìly– †þyöì†þ îöì¡ ¢ëÄyéŸél‡éŸé˜yˆÚ
†þyöì†þ îöì¡ ¥‘þyê îy¤îûÚ
xyôîûy ö•þy ¤yôylÄ ö¡y†þ è)þ•þlyí
xyôyöì˜îû Ö™% îy!¡¢  ö¥y†þ

Saheb Bibi Golum

Agni Roy

Bhootnath, receiver of ghostly vibes
From anklets
And jacuzzi from his Bibi,
light flickers around you
color comes to sit
next to the slave house
dark shield between your wings..
Although the pain in your little finger
Has turned our rowing songs into blue!
Do you know the sorrow of nail’s stain on the bed?
Or futile kick of quick honeymoon ?
We’re her slaves, Bhootnath,
Let’s just exchange our pillow..

English translation : Monali Roy

75

ˆyl

öˆï•þô ô[þ¡

xyôyîû !lßº ö•þôl ö†þyöìly ˜%ëûyîû öl¥z
•þy¥z î¤öì•þ î!¡!l ö•þyôyëû
™%öì¡yîû îÇþßiöì¡ ˜„y!’þüöìëû xySé •%þ!ô
˜„y!’þüöìëû ˜„y!’þüöìëû ö˜‡Sé öîûïöìoîû !îly¢
x×&îû ’þzöì§Ãy‹þl
ö•þyôyîû !˜öì†þ ö‹þöìëû xy!ô î%Vþöì•þ þ›y!îû
¤†þ¡ !lhßì¸þ•þyîû !èþ•þöìîû ~†þþy ¤‚ˆ#•þ îûöìëûöìSé
xyöì¡y îy ¥yGëûyëû lëû– x¦þ†þyöìîû
ö•þyôyîû ˆyl !l/¢öì· îyöì

The song

Goutam Mondal
I don’t have any personal door
So, I didn’t approach you to sit
Standing amidst the dust
You’re seeing the wreck of the sunlight
Unveiling of tear...
I can feel every silence has a tune whenever I stare at you.
Not in any light or wind,
Your song sounds in the darkness, silently.

English translation : Haimanti Bandyopadhay & Soham Chakraborty

76

öSéyþî†%þ¡þ›%öìîûîû ëye#

²Ì˜#þ› ‹þe«î•þÅ#

¤îûy¥z‡ylyîû ¤y¥zöìîûöìl
ö¡y¥y ˆ¡yöìly ¥ëû
¤îûy¥z‡yly
þ›îûyyˆ!•þ†þ Sé!îîû ôöì•þy †þ„yþ›öìS郃ƒ

öSéyþ yl¡y
ö•þyôyîû †þÄylèþy¤
îû&þ›y!¡ ôyöìSéîû •þêþ›îû yöì¡
ôlSéyëû ˜%þ›%îû–
¤ôhßì ö˜¥y‚¢ ˜%þ›%öìîûîû

†!rþÆ•þ xy!hßìöìl
~‡lG !†þS%é •þy¤
î,!ÜT æ%þöìþ G‘þy
˜)öìîûîû yl¡y ‹þyëû ly
î,!ÜTöì†þ ö¡‡yîû lÄ
î,!ÜTöì†þ ސþy!’þ †þöìîû!Sé îyîûîyîû

öëôl ö˜öì‡ !l¥z
þ›%öìîûyöìly ôyöìSéîû ‰y¥z †þ„yöìþ› öì¡
öSéyþöìî¡yîû öîûyöì˜öì•þ ö˜Gëûy ö¡î%îû xy‹þyîû
î,!ÜTîû l#öì‹þ ¡–
îà˜)îû îlyhsýîû

Vþîûyþ›y•þy lyöìô ~†þ @ýÌyô xyöìSé
îûöì.îû ôöì™Ä î%öì†þîû G!’þüëûy l†þ¢y
~†þ xy™þy î¦þ ˜îûy
‰%‰%îû ¤îÅߺ ö†þöì’þü !löìëû!Sé¡
˜%þ›%öìîûîû ¥¡%˜

xyôyîû †þy ¥öìî •þyöì˜îû xl%¤îû” †þîûyƒƒƒ

77

Passengers of ChotoBokulpur English translation : Nilima Deb

Pradip Chakroborty
The iron is melted
In the siren of inn
Inn
Trembling like a ghostly picture...
Small window
Your canvas
In the tricky net of silver fish
Complacent afternoon,
entire body - parts
remain at noon
There are still some cards
In dull sleeve
The blooming rain
Distant window does n’t want
To write the rain
I studied the rain repeatedly
As I observe
The wounds of old fish
Trembling in the water
The lemon pickle kept in sunshine
Reminds me childhood
Water under the rain
Forests far away
There is a village called jharapata
Oriya design in the chest of color
Very few closed doors
The dove snatched everything
Yellows of noon
My job would be to follow these...

78

21l‚ îûl# ö¤l öîûy’þ

xëûl îöì¨yþ›y™Äyëû

•%þ!ô öë öë îûyhßìy=öì¡y !˜öìëû ²Ì!•þ!˜l ö¥„öìþ ëyG
~†þ%þ þ›öìîû¥z韟Ÿ
ö¤¥z þ›í=öì¡y ‡%„öì’þü öî’þüy¥z xy!ô
†%þ!’þüöìëû xy!l †þyþ›öì’þüîû èþ„y xyîû xþ›!ßËëûôy” ‹þ¯öì¡îû !‹þ¥«
öèþöìþ› G‘þy !þ›öì‹þ †%þ†%þöìîûîû ôöì•þy ly†þ ö‘þ!†þöìëû
ˆ¦þ !löì•þ !löì•þ ‹þöì¡ ëy¥z ’þz_îû öíöì†þ ˜!Çþöì”– ˜!Çþ” öíöì†þ ˜!Çþ”Ÿé›)öìîŃƒƒ
!†þv ~¤î ‡yly•þÍÔy!¢ !†þ ‹þy!Uþ‡y!l îÄyþ›yîûÚ
~¥z öëôl ŸŸ é~!˜†þŸG!˜†þ ¤öìîûéŸéëyGëûy þ›yöìëûîû Séyöìþ›îû
!þ›S%é !þ›S%é ~öì¤ ö˜‡öì•þ öþ›¡yôŸŸé
xyöìhßì xyöìhßì !ô!¡öìëû öˆöìSé !˜ˆöìhsýƒƒƒ
•þöìî †þ# †þîûî ~‡lÚ
ö†þylG ¤‚öì†þ•þ¥z îy!†þ îû¥z¡ ly xyîû
!˜l xyîû îûy!_îû
ôy!þ xyîû xy†þy¢
¤î !†þS%éîû ô™Äî•þÅ# !î¨%öì•þ ˜„y!’þüöìëû ö‹„þ!‹þöìëû¥z ëy!FS韟Ÿé
òxÄy¥z ö•þyþ›ö줖 xyôyöì†þ ö†þ’þz ‡%l †þöìîû Gþ›yöì¢ !ô!¡öìëû öˆöìS郃ƒ
!îûèþ¡îyîûþy ö˜ ly •þy’þüy•þy!’þüóœ
†þ¥z ²Ì!•þ™ç!l ö•þy !æþöìîû ~¡ ly ö†þylGœ

79

21 Rajani Sen Road

Ayan Bandopadhyay
The lanes you take every day
in a short while -
I shovel them
And collect the rucks and marks of moving slippers
Smelling the burning pitch like a stray
I move to the south from the north, and to the south-east from south...
But you think it’s easy to do so?
Just as - following the swinging foot-prints I found
They’ve just vanished on the horizon...
So, now? What am I supposed to do?
There’s no mark left, no sign
Day and Night
Earth and Heaven
Standing in between them I am shrieking -
“Hey, Topshey, somebody has murdered me and vanished, right there
Give me, give my revolver, fast”
No, there’s no echo, nothing returned!

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

80

•þyöì˜îû ôˆöìîû lyô öˆy¡yô

xyæþ¡ xy!¡

!‹þ!lîû ˜%îÅ¡•þy !löìëû †þ!î•þy=öì¡y xy!ô ¡%!†þöìëû îûy‡!Sé¡yô
öël ö•þyôyöì˜îû¥z !þ›Séöìl ö†þyöìly Sé¡ly– èþëû ~î‚ x!èþKþyl ôyîûæþ•þ
þ›!îû†þÒly öl¥z– •þy¥z yly¡yîû x•þ#•þ öíöì†þ xyôyöì˜îû ¢·ö졇y xyöì¡y
S%éöìþ xyöì¤
‡%î öëöì•þ ¥zöìFSé †þöìîû ~†þþy xöì‹þly @ýÌyöìôîû Séyëûy ™öìîû
ö†þl £ì’þüësf †þöìîûy– ö†þl î%†þ !æþ!îûöìëû lyG
!löìô£ì ö¤ ö•þy ~öì¤!Sé¡ y˜%éŸéîy!¡†þyîû ö‡y¡y ‹%þöì¡
~‡l î,!ÜTîû ôöì•þy †þyîûy ’þy†þöìSé ‹þyþ›y ߺöìîû
îöì¡!Sé¡yô èþy£ìy ˜#‰Åyëû•þ †þöìîûy ly
îöì¡!Sé¡yô ö•þyôyöì˜îû xyöìîˆ ¥¡ îûyy
•þî% ÷ߺîû•þöìsfîû þ›y†þy ˜y¡yöìl !lèþÅîû¢#¡ þ›y!‡=öì¡y îöì¤
•þyîûy !¢îû˜„y’þüyîû †þíy yöìl ly– •þyöì˜îû ôˆöìîû lyô öˆy¡yô
~î‚ ¤öì•þÄîû þ›!îûîöì•þÅ e«ô¢ ¥¡%˜ ¥öìëû G‘þy ~†þ èþy.y ²Ì¡yþ›

Servant is their brain’s name

Afzal Ali

I was hiding the poems about the weakness of sugar
As if there is no plan surely behind you through some deception–
fear and experience–
So the light of our writing word comes running from the past of window
I wish to go through the shadow of an unfamiliar village
Why do you conspire– why do you take back your chest
The moment that came too in the open hair of a magic-girl
Now like rain who are calling in a mumble
Once I had said not to prolong the language
And your emotion is the king of all
Yet the depended birds sit down in the paved corridor of absolutism
They don’t know the tale of the spine– servant is their brain’s name
And instead of the truth a broken delirium that gradually turned yellow

English translation : Author himself

81

ö‡¡y ë‡l

xllÄy îöì¨Äyþ›y™Äyëû

Öl¢yl îy!’þü!þöì•þ ôye ˜%l
ö†þ öë †þyîû !lèþÅîû•þy S%é„öìëûŸŸŸélîç¥z xyîû xy!¢
¤yîûy!˜l ô%öì‡yô%!‡ þ›y¢yþ›y!¢ !lîÅy†þ Ö™%
xîëûî !‰öìîû †þíy– ö‹þyöì‡îû xÇþöìîû ¥„yþy‹þ¡y
‰!’þü ‰^ýþy öôöìþ› ߬yl ‡yGëûy ‰%ô xíîy
!l‰%Åô ö‹þyöì‡ x•þ#•þ‹þyîû”
ôye ˜%l xyöìþ›!Çþ†þ ¢•þÅy™#l
ö†þ öë xyöìˆ ö†þ þ›öìîûŸŸŸéòVþöì’þüîû îûyöì•þîû x!èþ¤yöìîûó
î%†þ ‹þyþ›y èþëû– Öl¢yl îy!’þü!þ e«ô¢ !lÅl
¢)lÄ Séy˜ î,!ÜT ¡ öîûyöì˜ x!èþôyöìl öþ›yöì’þü
Séyëûy ö‰yöìîû ‹þe«y†þyöìîû– ’þzöìþ›Çþyîû îyöìîûyôy¤
’þz_îûyëû” öíöì†þ ˜!Çþ”yëûl
¢)lÄ•þy öèþöì.ŸŸŸéô™Äîûyöì•þ ¤y¥zöìîûl öîöì Göì‘þ
‰l xy•þÅlyöì˜ !îþ›˜îîû” ˆy!’þü!þ ~öì¤
þ›y!‡îû ’þylyîû ôöì•þy •%þöì¡ ölëû †þyöì†þ
xˆ”l !èþöì’þü !lÅl•þy öèþöì. ‡yl‡yl
ô™Äîûyöì•þ öíöìô ëyGëûy ¥‘þyê ö‡¡yëûƒƒƒ

82

When the Game Is

Ananya Bandyopadhyay
Only two persons in the secluded house
Who’s dependent on whom – One ninety, eighty another
All over the day face-to-face, beside each other, only silent talks go on
Across the faces, Movement with the letters of the eyes
Timely bath, lunch, sleep or
Sleepless rumination of past
Only two persons conditional to each other
Who’s the first who’s the next to go the ‘journey of the stormy night’
Suppressed fright, the secluded house becomes lonely more and more
The empty rooftop burns in rain water sunlight and touchiness
The shadow revolves, all throughout the years of negligence
From northern to southern solstice
Shattering the vacancy – siren starts blowing at the midnight
Amidst the deep howling, the car of the ultimate danger
Picks whom up like the wings of a bird
The numerous crowding all around shatters the loneliness
In the suddenly ceased game of midnight…

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

83

S%é„öìëû !˜öì¡

ö†þï!¢†þ ‹þe«î•þÅ#

~†þy¥z î%!Vþ ö‹þöìly x!îÙ»y¤ †þîûyîû †þylyˆ!¡ Ú
ö†þ’þz ö†þ’þz öë xyîû îy!’þü öl¥z xy†þy¡ 韟Ÿé
ö†þ î¡öìî Ú
xyöì¡yμ¡y ‹þy¡’þy¡ öíöì†þ öôyôîy!•þîûy xyþöì†þ öˆöìSé
†þíyîy•þÅyîû þ›„y!‹þöì¡

†þyˆ öíöì†þ ~†þîyîûG öþ›!ª¡ ly ¤!îûöìëû¥z
öSéyþ öSéyþ lyô !¡‡öì•þ 韟Ÿé
xy •þyöì˜îû ô%‡ öôySéyöìî îöì¡
‹þyþ›y ˆ¡yëû ö’þöì†þ !löìFSé öîû¤öì†þyöì¤Åîû öl¢y•%þîû ‹þ„y˜Ð

þ›yˆ¡ æ%þþþ›yöìí xy !lÙ‹þëû¥z ö†þ’þz
xyîyîû ö†þyöìly xîy™Ä !‹þ!‘þ ö˜öìî 韟Ÿé
S%é„öìëû !˜öì¡ xy !†þv î¡öì•þ ‹þy¥zî ly
xyîûG ~†þîyîû

While you touch

Kaushik Chakraborty

Are you the only one who knows the alleys of mistrust?
Some are not in home nowadays-
Whose gonna say?
The candles from luminous groceries are now stuck in the boundaries of
communication

Used to write down tiny names without even moving the pencil out of the paper-
Today– the boozy race-course moon is calling to wipe their face

On the mad walkways– someone must be writing those disobedient letters again
But while you touch
I’d not want to say today
Once more

English translation : Author himself

84

èþyöì¡yîy¤yîû xþ›îû lyô

ö†þï!¢†þ ‹þöìRyþ›y™Äyëû

†%þëûy¢y ß›y¥zöì†þ ¢yþÅ V%þ!¡öìëû
¤†þyöì¡îû öîûy˜éŸé‰%ô ~‡l æþÄy†þyöì¢
lyöì†þîû Gþ›îû ×yhsý ‹þ¢ôy
˜)öìîûîû þ›îû†þ¡y †þ„yöì‹þ †þyöìSéîû !îöì†þ¡
öæþ’þ xy’þzþƒƒƒ

xyîyîû ²ÕÄyl †þöìîû ~öì¡y öô‰¡y
Séy¥zSéy¥z þ›yþ›Å¡ ßñyöìþÅ
¥¥z‹þ¥z ôl‡yîûyöìþ›îû
!‹þëûyîûéŸé¡#’þyîû

xy xyôyîû
öèþy yôy ™ç!lôëû– ö‹þ†þ†þyþy
ly¡†þ– ly¡†þƒƒƒ
ö•þyôyîû ¥„yöì¤îû ö‡„yéŸé
Sé’þüyöìly ößñöìþ›
þ›!îûëyëû# ôyl%£ìéŸé¥„yöì¤îûyƒƒƒ

G¥z öë
˜)îû ’þy†þöì¡y–
•%þ!ô !†þ ö˜öì‡öìSéyÚ
•%þ!ô !†þ öîûöì‡öìSéy ¥y•þ xyôyîû ¥*˜öìëû
ëyîû lyô ôöìl þ›öì’þü
~¥z ¤y¦þĆþy¡ ~‡l
!îß¿,!•þ †þyöìþ›Åþ öˆyþyëû

ô,˜% ˜%/‡îûy xyöìy ˜)öìîû íyöì†þ
öì¡îû xy¡ˆy ¢· ˆ¡%¥zéŸé²Ìôyl
~öì†þ ~öì†þ xyöì¡y !löìèþ ëyëûƒƒƒ

†þy§¬yîû ô%öì‡yöì¢
!lÅöìlîû †þíy†þ!¡
ö•þyôyöì†þ ö˜‡y¥zÐ

85

In the Name of Alternative Love

Koushik Chattopadhay

The sleepy sun fades out
His yellow shirt hanging idly
On the misty hanger.
Fades out the intimate dusk
Behind my old myopic spectacles.
The cheerleaders of depression
Dance in wild abandon
In their grayish, purple skirts
And dark clouds pan in the horizon.
My wet shirt
Soaks subtle sounds of pain
And gets checkered with love.
And the wild geese
Lends their migratory wings
Spreading wide across the scape
To some lonely hearts.
The far away land calls.
Have you heard.
Have you found some leisure
To rest your assuring hands
Across my chest.
And my heart.
I cant remember her name anymore.
The amnesia
Unfolds its spread.
The anaesthetic pain
Hasn’t descended yet
Upon my conscious mind–
The muted sounds of water
Lap across the hull–
The far away lights extinguish
One by one.
I demonstrate my dance
Only for you
In utter solitude
Clad in a creased and tearful mask-
The mask of decaying love.

English translation : Author himself

9

ô,•%þÄ

ö¢ï!èþ†þ îûyëû

˜„y!’þüöìëû xy!Sé ¤îy¥z–
!lÅlÐ

x¤‚¡@À !†þS%é ¢·
!‰öìîû ™îûöìSé ~¥z ö†þ!îl

•þ!¡öìëû ëyFSé xyly ‰%öìô

‘þyuþy ¥y•þþy †þ# ’þz£¥z ly !Sé¡ ö¤!˜l–
öë!˜l ™öìîû!Séöì¡ ²Ìíôƒƒƒ

Death

Sauvik Roy
Standing still–
Silent
Sound some meaningless
In this cabin
Unknown deep sleep in your eyes
Those cold hand was warm
That day– when you touched me
For the first time.

English translation : Author himself

10

xy¥•þ ’þylyîû þ›yöì¢

ÖèþBþîû ‹þöìRyþ›y™Äyëû

xy¥•þ ’þylyîû þ›yöì¢
¤yôylÄ Ö×*£ìy •%þ!ô öîûöì‡y–
G öë xyîû ’þz’þüöì•þ þ›yöìîû lyÐ
ôëûy¡öìîÜTl# öíöì†þ
ö•þyôyöì†þ î„y‹þyöì•þ !ˆöìëû
îû_«y_« ¥öìëûöìSé ö˜¥–
!Sé„öì’þü öˆöìSé ’þylyîû ö¢†þ’þüÐ
x²Ìy!®îû ôyëûy¡
¤ëöìb ¡y¡l †þöìîû
ôöìl ôöìl èþy¡öìîöì¤ öˆöìSé–
•%þ!ô xyîû !æþ!îûöìëû !˜G lyÐ
xy¥•þ ’þylyîû þ›yöì¢
!†þS%éÇþ” ‹%þþ› †þöìîû öîyöì¤yÐ
èþyöì¡y ly îy¤öì•þ þ›yöìîûy–
xyîû •þyöì†þ ’þzöìþ›Çþy !˜G lyÐ

88

Beside the Broken Wings

Subhankar Chattopadhyay
Place some care
Beside the broken wings–
Since they can’t fly any more
To save you from the python grip–
He had huge bloodshedding–
His wings were torn.
Fostering the trance of deprivation
With great care–
He kept the love in his heart.
Don’t refuse him any more.
Sit for a while
Beside the broken wings.
If you can’t love him–
Don’t ignore him any more.

English translation : Author himself

89

¡ ’þzþ›y‡Äyl

!î²Õî ˆöìDyþ›y™Äyëû

‰%ôhsý þ›yöìëûîû Séyþ›
öþ›!îûöìëû

‡%„öì !l!FSé ¤îÅlyôŸŸŸé¡y¥zlŸŸŸéö¥yöìþ¡
xy¤öì¡ þ›yöìþ›y¢ lëû
þ›öì’þü xyöìSé

ƒƒƒö•þ¡!‹þöìþ ß¿,!•þ
¥y¥zyÁ› !˜öì•þ !˜öì•þ ß³þ#•þöìô‰
ölöìô xy¤öìSé
öîy•þ¡î!¨ ÷˜öì•þÄîû †þyöìSéÐ

Anecdote of Water

Biplab Gangopadhyay
Beyond

The dormant footprints
I’m finding out pronouns–lines–hotels
Actually not a carpet,
Greasy memories are

…lying down
Via frequent highjumps, swollen clouds
Are coming down
Towards the bottled demon.

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

90

îy¤%ó¤ !†Ïþ!löì†þ ö¡‡y †þ!î•þy=FSé 8

¤Oëû ¤y¥y

!¤„!’þü èþy.öì•þ èþy.öì•þ ö†þyíyëû ~öì¤ ˜„y!’þüöìëûSé
!löìöì†þ ²ÌÙÀ †þ!îû
¤ôhßì xyëûly ~†þ¤yöìí ö¥öì¤ Göì‘þ
~ ¢îû#îû !þ›•,þ˜_
ö†þ !˜öìëû!Sé¡ xîö쥡yîû x!™†þyîûÚ
Kþylþ›yþ›# ë%!_« ¤yyëû

ò†þy •þî †þyhsýy– †þöìhßì þ›%eó

Bunch of Poems Written while Sitting at Basu’s Clinic 8

Sanjay Saha
Coming down the stairs, where have you reached
I ask myself
All the mirrors laugh together
This body is patriarchal
Who had given you the right of negligence?
The ignorant argues

‘Ka taba kanta, kaste putra’ (Who’s your wife, who’s your son either)

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

91

Séyëûy

îûy#î þ›y¡

o&•þˆ!•þîû ˆy!’þü ~ôl ‹þ•%þîû
•þyîû îû‚öìëûîû Séyëûy öæþöì¡ ëyëû
ö‹þyöì‡îû !èþ•þîû
öæþîûyîû þ›öìí
èþyîy öëöì•þ¥z þ›yöìîû
ôöìl þ›’þüöìî ~ôl !†þS%é ö•þy
öæþöì¡ xy!¤!l
ôöìl þ›’þüöìî ~ôl !†þS%é ö•þy
öæþöì¡ ëyG!l

Shadow

Rajib Pal
Cunningly swept over the fastest car from my eyes
Only the shadow of its own is there
You can think while you return
Have I left something behind me...
You might leave
something behind thee...

English translation : Author himself

92

™ye#

x!löìô£ì ô[þ¡

¤ô%öìoîû ö“þ’þz lyöì¤Åîû xlÄ ~†þ lyô
¤ô%öìoîû ölylyôy‡y lyöì¤Åîû l@À ¥y•þ
•þ#îûî•þÅ# !î£ìy˜ S%é„öìëû þ›%lîûyëû !æþöìîû ëyëû !˜ˆöìhsýîû !˜öì†þ
’þylyëû öîûïöìoîû †%þ!‹þ !löìëû ’þzöì’þü xyöì¤ ~†þVþ„y†þ þ›y!‡
xyöìîûyˆÄ!löì†þ•þöìlîû †þ!îûöì’þyöìîû •þ‡l ¤ô%Iμ¡ öèþyîû
ôô•þyôëû# x¦þ†þyîû !l/¢öì· ¥y•þ îûyöì‡ ‹%þöì¡
xyôyîû îû&@À•þyîû þ›%Cyl%þ›%C !¡!þ›îkþ †þîûy ¥ëû ly
xy!ô •þyîû ¤yöìí †þíy î¡öì•þ î¡öì•þ
oyÇþyöì‡öì•þîû !èþ•þîû !˜öìëû ö¥„öìþ ëyëû xylôly
˜#‰¡ ~†þ!þ !˜l ö¢£ì ¥ëû ësf”yîÄ•þ#•þ

The Nurse

Animesh Mondal
A Nurse that the sea waves come to be
Her bare hands– salted do linch
The ailing shore and get to the horizon back
Birds come flying with sundrops on the wings
A sunny day dawns along the corridor of cure
The caring darkness softly touches the head
The annals of my ailments go unrecorded
Headless I talk to her by her side
While walking through the vineyards
A daylong drawn passes painlessly away

English Translation : Karali Prasad Mali

93

~¥z ’þüöì˜öì¥

öˆï•þô ¤y¥y

xy!ôG èþy!î!l yöìly †þöì•þy ¡ ˆ!’þüöìëûöìSé
öèþ•þöìîû öèþ•þöìîûŸéöìl öìl ~öì¤ îöì¡ öˆöìSé
xy!ô ö‹þy‡ ‡%öì¡ •þy!†þöìëûG ö˜!‡!l
!lßº Vþîûly !löìëû ëyey Öîû& †þöìîû
¥‘þyê¥z !æþöìîû •þy†þyöìlyîû ôöì•þy ¥zöìFSé !Sé¡ ly
¤yôylÄ ë!˜ !†þS%é ¥ëû •þy ö•þy !lSé†þ îylèþy!¤
xyîyîû !æþîûöìî xyöì¡y韟Ÿé ›y•þyîû ˜yþ›þ †þöìô xy¤öìî !‘þ†þ
öî!¢ ôsiöìl ö•þôl !†þ xyîû ¥öìî
xy!ô xy!Sé xöì¡ï!†þ†þ xy˜öìîû– xyâyöì˜
öySély ~öì¤ ™%öìëû !˜öìFSé !îþ›§¬ x!ßiîû•þy

xí‹þ ~¤öìîîû þ›öìîû ë‡l ö˜!‡ ~†þ
ö¡yèþ# þ›•þD Ö™% ’þzöì’þü ~öì¤

˜‡¡ ‹þyëû xyôyîû þ›%Ü›ßi¡
xyîû èþy!¤öìëû !˜öì•þ ‹þyëû îûî#wˆyl
xy!ô •þ‡l ~¥z ’þüöì˜öì¥G ~öì†þîû

x!™†þ ¥öìëû ’þz!‘þ

Within This Dearth

Goutam Saha

Neither did I measure the water spilled
Within - every single person noticed and mentioned
I did not even have a glance
After starting with an intimate fountain
There was no intention to halt all the sudden to look back
A meager flow may only create a flash-flood
And there will be light again, the leaves won’t chatter much
Nor would much stirring do any good
And I feel an empyreal amour, a gusto
Where moonbeam laves my fret

Yet, after all these I see
A rapacious moth flies into my garden
And tries to loosen chords to dissonance
I, rise from the ash to myriad

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

94

îy¥z¤l

†%þhsý¡ ô[þ¡

˜#‰Å ö¤ îûy•þ !†þóèþyöìî ö†þöìþ ˆÄyöìSé þ›yþy•þöìl–
î,!ÜTîû ˜„y’þü öîöìëûŸŸŸéö¤ †þíy †þ‡öìly !†þ •%þ!ô ylöìîÚ

ößËyöì•þîû ô%öì‡ xy!ô ~†þy— xy!˜ô ~î‚ ’þzöì˜yô— ö™„yëûyîû
¢îû#îû !löìëû ’þzöì’þü öˆ!S韟éîy¥z¤öìlîû ¤GëûyîûÐ þ›öìíîû
¤ôhßì î¨îû ö˜öì‡ ôöìl ¥öìëûöìSé ly!îöì†þîû íÄ„y•þ¡yöìly
ô%‡Ð !Vþl%†þ ’þzí¡yöìly ‹þ„yöì˜îû ß³þ#•þ hßìl– ¥yGëûyëû
ö•þyôyîû ’þz˜¼yhsý ¢y’þü#îû þ›y’þüŸŸ=¡yô xy!¡îû ˆöì¡îû ôöì•þyÐ

@Õyöì¤ îûy!e ö“þöì¡ xy!ô •þ‡l ô˜Ð
!‹þ!îöìëû ö‡öìëû!Sé îy¥z¤öìlîû †þ¡öì ¥y’þüéŸéöˆy’þüÐ
xyîû öþ!îöì¡îû ’þzþ›îû !lßº
þ›,!íî# ly!ôöìëû öîûö쇟Ÿöþ›þ›yîûGöìëûöìþîû ëy˜% æ%þöì¡îû
þ›yþ›!’þü=!¡ !Sé„’þüöì•þ !Sé„’þüöì•þ öèþyîû ¥öìëû ~öì¡
xy!ô ‹þôöì†þ ’þz!‘þ

xyôyîû ¤ôhßì ¢îû#îû öël îûy!eîû ’þz!q˜Ð

Bison

Kuntal Mondal

I know not how hath the long nights passed on the deck
Paddling through the rain - Would you ever learn it?

I am lonesome towards the tide; Pristine and Stupid, Barberic
Fled upon a bison. All the ports on my way had the face just as
A fallen Mariner. A full-breasted moonlight as nacre, wind
Maddens the fringe of your cloth - as Ghazals of Ghulam Ali.

With a full glass of night, I’ve turned vine. I’ve crushed
The bosoms, the bones of the bison. And placing my world
Upon the table - while tearing off the petals of the magical florets
in the Paperweight I startle when it dawns

As if in flesh-and-blood, I am a Tree of the Dusk

English translation :Tapobrata Mukhopadhay

95

èþ#ô•þy¡ ¥É˜

‹þwlyí ö¢‘þ

~¥z ö¤¥z ¥y!•þô%‡ Vþîûlyîû ¡Ð ¤öìîôye ߬yl
ö¤öìîû ’þz‘þöì¡l öoïþ›˜#
~†þ“þy¡ ~öì¡y‹%þ¡ ’þz’þüöìSé îy•þyöì¤
Öîû& ¥öìî þ›˜îʍРþ›y îy’þüyöì¡l þ›Méþþ›y[þîÐ
¤yôöìl èþ#ô•þy¡Ð
þ›y¥y!’þüéŸé¥yGëûyëû †%þ!ôîû †þyô’þü— †þ„yþ›öìSél
¤¥öì˜î韟é•þ„yîû ¥yöì•þ þ›yMéþy¡#îû GôÐ

Bhimtaal Lake

Chandranath Seth
This is the very elephant-face cascade–
water comes out of–
Draupadi has just
taken a shower–
one slope of hair disheveled –
moving in the air–
Panchapandava moved their feet
as they set out.
Bhimtal is nearby.
Chilling mountain-wind is merely a bite of crocodile;
Sahadev is shivering–
Panchali holds his hands and pours her love.

English translation : Arghya De

96

†,þ£ˆ¥´îû

èþl ˜_

¤#ôyöìhsý ‹%þÁºöìlîû xöìþ›Çþyëû !l•þÄ öë ˜„y!’þüöìëû
•þyîû †þyöìSé¥z ö¥„öìþ ‹þ!¡ ‡%„!’þüöìëû ‡%„!’þüöìëû
xl%þ›!ßi!•þöì•þ ß¿,!•þîû ‡y•þy èþöìîû öˆöì¡¥z !†þ
ö¤ ‡y•þy öæþöì¡ ö˜Gëûy ëyëûœ
ôy!þöì•þ þ›y îûy‡öì¡¥z ë!˜ ôy!þîû öèþ•þöìîûîû îy!¤¨y ¥Gëûy öë•þ–
•þöìî þ›,!íî#öì•þ †þ!î•þy ö¡‡yîû ˜îû†þyîû ¥öì•þy lyÐ
†,þ£ˆ¥´îûG ™%¤îû ¥ëû ~†þ!˜l
†þy¢æ%þ¡ öæþyöìþ #îl èþyöì¡yöìîö줃ƒƒ

Black-hole

Bhajan Dutta
The man, standing eternally at the horizon, waiting for a kiss,
I approach him, stumbling
Even if the notebook of memories gets flooded with absences,
Is it correct to throw it into trashes!
If only stepping onto the ground would have been sufficient to be a
resident of the intrinsic earth, then there would have remained no need
for writing poetry.
Even the black-holes turn grey one day
The flower Kash blossoms, loving the life…

English translation : Soham Chakraborty

97

˜yîyîû ‹þy¡

¤%¢yhsý ˆöìDyþ›y™Äyëû

xyôyîû î%öì†þîû !èþ•þîû ~†þþy ˆèþ#îû Çþ•þ xyöìSéÐ
ö¤‡yöìl ~†þ¤öìD îy¤ †þöìîû x!@À–¡ xyîû îyëû%
~îûy öîûy ˜yîy ö‡öì¡–‹þy¡ ö˜ëû–!†þ!hßìôyê †þöìîû
~öì˜îû !löìëû¥z xy!ô öî„öì‹þ xy!Sé–~îûy¥z xyôyîû

éŸéþ›îûôyëû%
öë!˜l x!@À ë%öìkþ ööì•þ–’þzÍñyþ›y•þ ¥ëû
î#ëÅ öSéyöìþ !löìîû ôöìlîû ôöì•þy
x!îîû•þÐ
ö¤!˜l l˜#îûy xyîû l•þņþ# lëû
îÊ#’þüy xyîû xy¥´yl öël xR¥y!¤ †þöìîû
VþlÅy ö¤!˜l ly‹þöì•þ ly‹þöì•þ l˜#öì•þ¥z ~öì¤ ôöìîû
öë!˜l îyëû% ööì•þ– ôöìlîû ôöì™Ä Vþ’þü îöìëû ëyëû
îàô%‡# x¤æþ¡•þy !löìöì†þ †%þöìîû †%þöìîû ‡yëû
èþyöì¡yîy¤y •þ‡l xydîûôöì” îÄþ›,•þ ¥ëû
#îl xyîû ~†þô%öì‘þy ¤ôëûöì†þ !löìëû¥z èþëû
öë!˜l ¡ ëû# ¥ëû–öì¡îû ¤öìD ¡ !ôöì¢
xq$•þ ôy•þy¡– !˜!‰ þ¡ô¡ ²Ìyëû
ôöìlîû ¤î ¥zrþyîûöìlöìþîû yl¡y ‡%öì¡
ô!˜îû ¥öìëû íy!†þ ¤%öì‡îû xy¢yëûÐ

98

Chess play

Susanta Gangopadhyay

There is a huge wound inside my heart
There lives the three Fire–Water and air
they regularly play chess–play to win
I live with them–they are my survivor

the day fire wins meteor falls on earth
semen flow out of the way
constantly
then rivers are not dancers
mating had welcome a change of lough
fountains keep on dancing to have a
peaceful death in the rivers

the day air wins there is huge
typhoon inside the mind. Different mirror
of unsuccessful settings try to kill myself
then this forgetful life is the cause of

horror

but the day water wins, I pour water into water
totally drunk–pond is full to the brink
I open all the windows of mind’s internet
to get an awful–deep and happy link

English translation : Author himself

99

xyöì¡yéŸéSéyëûy

l#¡yOl ¢y![þ¡Ä

yl¡y !˜öìëû xy¤y
lîûô öîûy˜
xyîû ˆîûyöì˜îû Séyëûy þ›öì’þüöìSé
ö¡‡yîû öþ!îöì¡Ð
†þ# öîôylylœ
î’þü xߺ!hßìÐ

x¦þ†þyîû èþy¡¥z ¡yö숖
xyöì¡yG ô¨ lëûÐ
!†þv– öî‡y¯y ¡yˆöìSé ˜%öìlîû
~¥z ö‰„£ìyöì‰!£ì– öô¢yöìô!¢Ð

öëôl
ß%ñöì¡îû ¡yސþ îëû xyîû æþyސþÅ îöìëûîû î¦%þcÐ
öëôl
x!æþöì¤îû !’þöìîûQîû xyîû Vþy’þY˜yöìîûîû ‰!lÛþ•þyÐ
öëôl
•þ§º# !†þöì¢yîû#îû ¤yöìí þ›,í%¡y ô™Äî!•þÅl#îû èþyîÐ
¤î¥z î’þü öîôylyl ¡yöìˆÐ

•þî% ö•þy Gîûy xyôyöì˜îû x¤!¥£% ˜,!ÜTöì†þ
ö†þ’þz öîûëûyê †þöìîû lyÐ
öëôl †þöìîû ly
ú xyöì¡y xyîû ~¥z SéyëûyÐ

100