Kobita mane

kobita mane ekti meyeke khoja -

tar hate boi, chokhe shopno

ar chuler khopai kolom goja.

se nijer moto

chakhte chai jibon-take,

othocho onuddhoto.


se bhirer majheo eka.

tobu ekla hote bhoi nei tar,

nei Victorian noitikota.

ache shadhinotar ch(h)ap,

ar shomoy bhule adda marar

shakhhi coffee-r cup.

Pochish

oshomoy-e okaron

chuto-chuti, bhulo mon;

bohu-din por -

cheye dekhi kete gelo

pochish bochor.


shur kate, kate shur -

eight B, shibpur,

kate Tintin;

khela khela, dhulo dhulo -

school-er tiffin.


asha jaoa, jaoa asha,

kate bhalo, kate basha,

kolahol bhir;

pushe rakha obhi-man -

chin-er prachir.


jabo hete, hete jabo -

shada-mata, obhi-nobo

prithibi-r book-e;

anonde, hotashai -

proshonno mukhe.

Footpath

amar

mon-kharap kore na ar.

footpath-e shoa loktar kache

rakha ache

amar dukhho-gulo.

amar byartho-prem ar sharthopor bishonnota

lamp-post er holde aloi mishe thake;

alokito kore raater kolkata-ke.

amar kanna-bheja nordomar jol,

loktar molin jama ar poka-dhora kombol -

ei to jibon!

sheet-er footpath-e kuashar chumbon;

nepothho-shongeet mosha-der gaan,

pasher bari theke bheshe asha TV-r awaj,

ar Shahrukh Khan.


janina

kal shurjo uthbe kina.

shudhu jani ebhabei kete jabe raat.

ghumonto shohorer nidarun shonghat

roye jabe obbokto,

ar moshara kheye jabe loktar rokto.


er porer khobor

biggapon-er por.

A Poem by Emily Bronte

There are times when I come across a hitherto unknown poem that captivates my mind, and I am left numb on reading it out loud. Yesterday was such an occasion as I chanced upon the following poem by Emily Bronte.

The Old Stoic

Riches I hold in light esteem,

And Love I laugh to scorn;

And lust of fame was but a dream

That vanish'd with the morn:

And, if I pray, the only prayer

That moves my lips for me

Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,

And give me liberty!'

Yes, as my swift days near their goal,

'Tis all that I implore:

In life and death a chainless soul,

With courage to endure.