the first billow is named – ‘description of the city’ the second billow is named – ‘description of the heroine the third billow is named – ‘description of the house’ the fourth billow is named – ‘description of the seasons’ the fifth billow is named – ‘description of death’ the sixth billow is named – ‘description of the jokers and all’ the seventh billow is named – ‘description of the charnel-ground’
সহসা ঘট উলটে গ্যালো ইতিহাস-বিপরিতে কালচক্র ঘুরুক যদি উলটোপথে ব্যাতিহার নদীসব, ব্যাথাহর নদসব হিরণা সমঝ-বুঝ আপনা মাংসে ক্যাম্পহারা হয়তো ছন্দ মিলল বেছন্দে - দুইয়ে মিলে ঘটমান শূন্যতা বর্ণ মিলল বিবর্ণে - অথবা ময়ুরভঞ্জে ফিরে গ্যালো জগন্নাথ, কেষ্টঠাকুরের আদিবাসীদের হাতে শহীদ হওয়ার গল্পগাছা লেখা হল না।
হয়তো দূর্গা, ভীমসেন, রবিনটাগোর আর খাদানমালিক একত্রে রাঙালো না রাঙামাটি, উদাসে ভরল না তালসারি, শালসারি ও রামকিঙ্কর কিম্বা একত্রে ভূমকালে শুনলো পাঞ্জু শাহর গান অথবা, ধর্মপাল ও কৈবর্ত-ভীম একত্রে রুধলো রুধিরধার শান্তশ্রী প্রতিরোধে - অথবা ত্রিপুরার গুহাকন্দরে শঙ্করকে ছিলিম জ্বালাতে জ্বালাতে নীরব সান্ধ্যবোধি দিলো ডোম্বীপা অথবা রেবতী বর্মণের কুঠকলঙ্ক আঙুলে চুমু খাওয়ার বেয়াড়া ইচ্ছেগুলো চাগিয়ে উঠলো না।
অথবা ইতিহাস আর ভুগোলের ক্লাসে বয়োঃসন্ধ্যিতে অধম মাতোয়ারা অথবা নবীন জিন্দালের বাপকে বেহেড চাবকাচ্ছে কমরেড আজাদের বাপ কালচক্র স্পেসশীপে নদনদী গুবলেট, চৈতন্নের কুঠুরিতে বোরোসাপ ও রজ্জু ভিন্ন মিথষ্ক্রিয়া, অভিন্ন অনহদ, প্রজ্ঞাত্তীর্ণ, অর্থাৎ একক, অর্ধনারীশ্বর। খাপেখাপ।
you're so pretty that thinking of you makes eyes water you're so pretty that i stay up all night and look at stars the city-sky is sad, there are not many stars up there but you're so pretty that i can make-believe-see the entire milky way! and you're so pretty that people forget to fight and make love all day and all night and flowers keep blooming everywhere all day and all night and some flowers turn into clarinets and some into harpsichords and make music of love all day and all night - everyone gets a fix that way!
Pishach, in my right hand i hold a sword in my left, your Paishach world Your ghosts are mine, Your children are mine, And just, in a dim night, a hut burning by a river, Foxes barking by Bhula-Masan-marshes – with marshlights of Maya, of the mist, and of all zero-sum history – Voices lost in mirages, in sad fortresses, broken, like people are broken by guns and tanks, broken like this while, sad like this shadow of yours i drag and this shadow of mine you drag Pishach, take me where your corpses burn that i may burn with the corpse of the world, with the corpses of all sad deaths of the world.
translated 'Raja Ashey Jaaye' (King Comes & Goes) - iconic Bangla poem by Birendra Chattopadhyay (1920-1985), not to be confused with early Communist revolutionary Virendranath Chattopadhyay (1880-1937).
you call it lavender stuff, they call it poetry of the moon dancing madly across the skies.
it's also silly letters with beautiful pictures, keys to memory-trunks where they say there are shadows of climes behind stairwells, flutes that played on behind mist, et cetera and et cetera, images and imageries, bla bla and bla, things to hide behind, sleep and dream within, shapes to shift by.
is like the sun
you see the windmills,
you know they are real
is like the moon
you see the tides swelling
you burn a bit every night
you don't know if its ashes or gold
is like thirty and two tunnels
leading to the sky that is lonelier
than the emptiest hearts of the world
and your knowledge is then a stranger
and your ignorance the strangest
so one day war poem, love poem and death poem
went to the sea
to look at red crabs that crawl, tidebound
but the sea was a mirror
so they could not see the waves
but they saw a city on the other side
they heard trumpets in the sky
because the tunnels had opened up to windmills
and because the sun and the moon were inching
along sharp edges that lead to nowhere
they were still there when i saw them last
but someday they'll move on because everyone does.
you, the latest dead blogger from Bangladesh are you number three or number four? i've lost count and we have lost interest because the same shit over and over again simply doesn't sell except that it gives certain secularympics enthusiasts hailing from certain geographies certain reasons to smile and i must end this with a smile and i must begin this with a smile and we must all smile and you are dead, motherfucker, so you, too, must smile.
what we had wanted – silence, through the centuries of el dorado,
discreet charms of the bourgeoisie, saturnine –
but the streets are full of gold and blood
cities fill with lonely people – all we had yearned for become little tattoos
and dangle down the cheeks of forever – where bugles dream of rice and love, soldiers dream dreams that rich people dream – of increments and royalty, blue blood flowing like wine through blue glasses,
but if I get love I will break the blue glasses
I will pee on the blue wine
and stand by the banks of the Nile
and wave my wand made of freedom
and stand at the brink of all beginning and end
and wave my flag made of dreams
and maybe do a little jig or two on the sides with Rumpelstiltskin who loves me,
who feeds my soul.
horses return home all evening horses don't drink moonlight no creature drinks moonlight except in fairytales fairytales are pictures of love and rain in clouds trees houses roads etc but the roads are too harsh for the horses the clouds too heavy the houses won't let them stay anymore the trees won't bear them anymore the rivers are drying up fast oceans, unlike those from pastiched aryan myths, churn toxin fairytales churn indifference faces in heart of vision stare stoic faces in eyes of heartbeats turn pages with pictures of love and rain horses turn into ghosts of horses, into shadows bounding through sands of time into spaces between letters, into silences between notes;
horses never die in fairytales and dreams of love are never nightmares of lacklove out there.
a musical conference on the musical confidence of textile experts – experts shall be strongly vocal they aren’t vocal enough about all the nice postures of sex; but people, writhing around the bog-nail of time and life they show – anger, pride, hurt urchins and hearts of urchins, But then law-makers and their electoral assemblies, and case administrators – and all sorts of justice dudes from the Panopticon They arrive on helicopters and lay down the terms of the heart and of the hurt diseases of dreams; the urchin, in his dreams, sees peace simmering from a fairy tale unremembered, unlearnt
পৃথিবীর সমস্ত রাত্রি এভাবেইই স্থিত হয়ে আসে দিনে দুপুরে অরূপ অলখ আড়ম্বরে পৃথিবীর বহু দিন এভাবেই ইতিহাস, ইকিড়মিকিড় দু'র মাঝে ফুটিফাট দরজা, নকশী সিনেমাকাটা ডোরাহুলো গুঁড়ি মেরে চলমান, বস্তুতঃ - কিমিত, ক্ষয়বাদী
wanting is - this crazy afternoon
meandering its way to that crazier evening
like a grand elephant, swaying its head
like the sad heavy heart of some ancient demon-lord -
wanting is that demon's shadow - heaving, throbbing -
as he weeps when nobody's around,
and even the shadow weeps
but you won't be knowing this
you have seen the beast rave and rove along the rugged ways of the world - angry, aimless, fatal;
you haven't seen it weep, you haven't
seen it wanting to weep into your hair, to bring the sun and the moon down with love so strong
that everything's freedom -
everything's a bright haze of blue -
wanting is the blue of your mind
and the twilight of mine
it never mattered when the moon rises -
except when it really does -
wanting is those horizons - gulped down by the hounds of mist
with a winelike dash of rain -
wanting is to breathe in, without expecting to breathe out - to live, to die, eternal - wanting to dream all dreams with you,
light all magic lanterns with you
so one day the Supreme Court met the Center
and they signed a Merger Agreement
the new Company thus formed was named the Supreme Center
and the first Commandment they thundered down from
their throne in a mound known as the Raisin Sized Gonads Hills
was as follows:
'all ye shall be the property of the state like ye always were'
the folks laughed dry like sad people do
and said - fuck yeah, do you think we haven't known this thus far?'
confused, the Supreme Center Co. Pvt. Ltd called a shareholders' meeting
and hauled up a shareholder named Mister Education System
the other shareholders accused him of having too many holes
and hung him upside down.'
it's your birthday today the liberal 9 to 5-s will hold tame celebrations throughout Calcutta, throughout Dhaka not everywhere, only in places where they stay and make their sounds and eat their food and sleep their sleeps they won't see the blood of the fucked billions in their food they won't hear the wild wails of the slaughtered billions in their nightmares but i won't grudge all that today it's your birthday and purple flowers have bloomed, familiar birds had chirped all morning - and we all will live because humans always do Rebel poet, lover poet, may my heart be true.