Best Dhaka Poems
Somewhere there might have an ocean that I haven’t seen!
Somewhere there might have a tune of soul that I couldn’t hear!
I’m going and going if somewhere long far away!
I’m watching and watching if everything is wrong enough!
I’m not afraid of saying though, “I’m a Human”!
I become failed to know “You are not mine”!
The waiting of your soul for me at tomorrow,
By thinking the memories of you, why I couldn’t sleep yesterday,
Everything is one kind of Resembling Soul!
Imaginary Crying at the door of our hearts!
You would have known though, I am still enough better than you!
Even though, I become drunk when I drink the wine,
Even though, I feel happiness when I take the marijuana!
You might have become a sparrow, what does it come and go?
I might have lost my Nest, what loses does remain?
That sky that is also yours,
Those rivers that will also give me water.
You haven’t even learnt to say, “You love you”!
“You love me”, is it so easy to say?
Somewhere there might have an ocean that I haven’t seen!
Somewhere there might have a tune of soul that I couldn’t hear!
I’m going and going if somewhere long far away!
I’m watching and watching if everything is wrong enough!
I’m not afraid of saying though, “I’m a Human”!
I become failed to know “You are not mine”!
The waiting of your soul for me at tomorrow,
By thinking the memories of you, why I couldn’t sleep yesterday,
Everything is one kind of Resembling Soul!
Imaginary Crying at the door of our hearts!
You would have known though, I am still enough better than you!
Even though, I become drunk when I drink the wine,
Even though, I feel happiness when I take the marijuana!
__________________________________________
July 2, 2009
Kallyanpur, Dhaka;
Bangladesh.
Categories:
dhaka, lifeme, drink, love, me,
Form:
Between the Indian plains and the hills of Burma.
Protected by the affection of its three guardians,
The Ganges, Brahmaputra and Meghna.
From there - this story began.
On a grassland full of hopes and dreams.
Right at the edges of Brahmaputra river.
Lying there without any wheezes,
A sad and lonely royal bengal tiger.
He remembers the smell of the Sal trees,
In Bhawal Park near Dhaka, his place of birth.
He remembers the sounds of peacocks, elephants, and deers
His heart wish they were not yet became a myth.
He has been a part of Pohela Boishakh feast.
When people bathe early and dress in fine clothes.
All the men put on their kurta, or the finest lungi at least
While women dress in sharee, letting their beauty to be exposed.
Tears streamed from his cheek. As the old tiger weep.
A momentary recalled the legends of his ascendant.
The story of the one whose once Sultan beloved,
And the one whose survives the liberation war in 1971.
The tiger now stood, underline his courage and chivalry.
"Will this liberty be felt by my offspring?" his mind fly.
Despite the poverty, instability, and all its vulnerability,
There is more to Bangladesh than meets the eye.
~ For the "LOVE LETTERS TO THE INDIAN SUBCONTINENT" contest by Cyndi MacMillan
Categories:
dhaka, symbolism, sympathy,
Form:
Narrative
The myriads of unmarked graves in the cemetery
Presenting miserable image of human heartlessness
Uncared and unsung by near, dear all and sundry
Forsaken and abandoned, victim of unkindness
Which one of them holds my mother’s remains?
My angel, my lover, a philosopher, a friend
A melancholy child riding rough terrains
I for whom her eyes incessantly rained
I turned into a pauper with treasure of love gone
A symbol of despair with goals unclear
Relentless caravan of time said move on
And move I did trembling with fear
The nature held me by hand and catapulted in the air
The voyage of loneliness was hard to endure
Groping and fighting I reached where eagles dare
With anguish and pain and lost valor
The shower of Blessings and silvery rains of grace
Hoisted the flag of my fame and glory
Winning goals after goals in the formidable race
Life writing an enchanting story
Yet my eyes with tears blurred and hazed
My spirit weeps, my soul cries
I pray on all unmarked graves with my hands raised
Surely in one of them my mother lies
(My mother Begum Najmunnesa was laid to rest in an un-marked grave in Azimpura, Dhaka, Bangladesh. I am that unworthy son who is unable to identify her grave and visit the country to offer prayers)
Categories:
dhaka, death, mother, sad, grave,
Form:
Rhyme
We were one people, neighbours and kin
Before independence and the politician’s whim
In August’47, the brotherhood ended
The country was partitioned and we were independent
Democracy worked in India, floundered in neighbouring Pakistan
Victim to army rule and the power of the gun
And many a times since ’47, the two nations went to war
As defender of sovereign territory or blatant aggressor
A tenuous existence was Pakistan’s, to our east and west
Their land and race divide put this bond to test
The East staked its claim to governance on the people’s mandate
But unwilling to yield power, the West unleashed a campaign of hate
Aspirations muzzled after twenty four years, bypassing legislation
Saw the birth of a defiant East yearning for liberation
A hotbed of political activity, Dhaka University was targeted
It was spring that night in ’71, the campus was surrounded
Troops loyal to the West sealed roads under night’s cover
And shells were fired in haloed ground from battle tank and mortar
Shrieking death, it is said, arced through the sky that night
Exploding amid the campus buildings, in blinding flashes of light
Besieged and battered was the East’s cradle of intellect
A grim warning for the masses, March 25 was the date
Then ground troops with weapons of death silently moved in
To slaughter at close quarters, academics and their kin
As flames licked the sky from adjacent slums
Fleeing residents were mowed down by soldiers with machine guns
The stench of burning flesh filled the night air
As bodies piled on streets were set on fire
The sky glowed red that night, as Dhaka burned
The orgy in the campus ended after all found were gunned
The handful, who escaped death, shed silent tears
As ghastly fires burned to ashes, family and peers
Categories:
dhaka, history, night, night, sky,
Form:
Narrative
I am a Krisnochura tree at the Dhaka University,
I love to stand still with my curiosity.
The white clouds are used to touch my head,
Sometimes the rains wash my forehead.
Neither you are aware of this, nor the students,
I love their wonderful shouts.
My leaves are nimble, nimble like fish in the water,
My flowers are lovely in red colour.
My leaves are my hands, I have millions,
I touch you with my millions hands with exaltations.
I touch Dhaka city sometimes,
I love this DU campus and want to stay lifetimes.
My leaves are my eyes, I look in amazement,
I watch you with my millions eyes with amusement.
Categories:
dhaka, beauty, blessing, caregiving, freedom,
Form:
Classicism
Every wave has a picture
Sadek
Every wave has a picture
Endless wave endless picture
Bring from the long life
The known and unknown
The seen and unseen pictures -
Bring with the changing scenes
Another eye another speed.
Some pictures are as cold as ice
Some as soften velvet
Some of them prod to bring out blood.
The endless spread of the canvas
Filled with countless waves
Come and go.
SHORT BIO - SADEK
Sadek - Artist and Poet. He started poetry from his child hood. Published first in school magazine. After many poems published on deferent little magazine. He was born in sixties at West Bengal, India. After finishing Bsc degree he joined Art college at Rabindra Bharati Universe city, BVA degree in Kolkata. Then he started his carrier in Kolkata Film Industry and later moved on to Mumbai film industry. Last 23 years he is involved in film industry as an Art Director. He got experienced working with lots of national and international Film Director. Simultaneously he Participated lots of Painting Exhibition and poetry festival. In the year 2010 Dariyanagar Kabita mela Koxesbazar in Bangladesh give him special honors. He also participated prestigious Poetry festival like Jatyo Kabitaporisad Dhaka Bangladesh. And The Saarc festival of literature in Agra India in 2013. His poetry books name “JANALATA KHOLA THAK” (let’s keep the window open).
Contact:
Sadek
Bengal Ambuja
UV 24/3A, 1050/1 Survey Park, Kolkata, West Bengal, India
Sadek_in@yahoo.com
Categories:
dhaka, art, beautiful, black african
Form:
Classicism
To cry I’ll be able to make
How many people
After my death?
Who are they?
What are they of mine today?
Did I love them?
Did I do for them?
Why they would cry?
Did I cry?
For why? For whom?
Yes, I’m dying soon.
_______________________
May 3, 2010
Kallyanpur, Dhaka
Bangladesh
Categories:
dhaka, art, caregiving, death, faith,
Form:
Endless life, extreme little time though!
At these days-
Breaking down comes at the belief of the after death!
After doing this, that & all; it is meant-
Haven’t found me myself!
My dream, my veiling,
My past, present, this notebook of the poems...
All are faded one day in the womb of the time;
And, I myself too!
I’ve got the birth in a sudden though!
And, the Death! Untamable! Nothing is to be done for it...!
How you cry saying Love, Love & Love so much...
What does belong there for your wants & getting?
The life that wants to get everyday, will be been for short days,
The life that wants to give tomorrow, will be been for thousand years.
A little some tiresome...
Is running behind as the Arab horse,
I’ve been running at the circumambulation of the history.
In this wheel of mine, I’m a circular man.
__________________________________
March 10, 2010
Kallyanpur, Dhaka-1207
Bangladesh
Categories:
dhaka, lifelife, love,
Form:
There was a young lady of Dhaka,
She was cutting a Paprika;
Suddenly she saw a cockroach,
She thought it was about to approach,
This courageous young lady of Dhaka.
Categories:
dhaka, humor, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
I asked who am I, my name?
You answered not in the same.
To you whom I loved,
You looked for your gains a lot.
Hearts forgot their Hearts,
I watched the faiths you got.
And, my dreams did die,
And, I used to cry.
Though, I sang songs were new,
You played your tools with you.
No, I didn’t know-
The last of the beginning,
No, I didn’t know-
How you were thinking.
Yes, I was None but One,
Yes, you were Some but None.
Please, kill me dear now,
I can’t have our lives anyhow.
To live these lives with try
I’m too tired to die.
___________________________
June 09, 2009
Kallyanpur, Dhaka;
Bangladesh.
Categories:
dhaka, lost love
Form:
Rhyme
Over a hundred dead more can be said,
bosses told workers the cracks in the tall
building were nothing to worry about they said;
is this the 'terrorism' of shrug your shoulders'
indfference we said?
Categories:
dhaka, political,
Form:
Rhyme
student they are
on the wings of knowledge,
on mirthful wings of angel,
on light of inside and outside
smiling touches them purely
fresh mind, fresh eye view to the future
they are frolicsome for acquiring knowledge
together footsteps on the airway road
crossing they are every step of offshoot thinking
smiling, playing, gossiping, seeing, looking
and walking to the bright career
they are child to teenage on same base
on angelic wings and heavenly light
suddenly the MounTain LigHt comes upon them
comes upon them as Fat-Man and Little-Boy
it burns their wings of angelic soul
put off the light of happiness
cut up the two souls from their chain
wounded many of their caravan
MounTain LigHt brings mourning bliss for them!
it has no soul, no eye, no veins, no blood of kindness
it understands only the procession of death
it understands royal roads of Dhaka, Chattogram,
Rajshahi, Khulna, Rangpur, Sylhet, Barishal
it understands tareque masud, mishuk munier to Mim, Rajib and so on
it understands the darkness of grave yard
it understands the death angel Azraeal and greets him on inert roads
it understands a bier and shrouded dead body
it understands the epitaph with bereavement motherly tears
oh! light of life is not secured still on road
every innocent soul is devoured abruptly
giant death angel transform himself on vehicle
it comes as MounTain LigHt and fires, razes
nonsense demonic driver enjoys the race on bail
excited uncontrolled peoples ruminate stability,
demolish more lively soul in blind emotion
oh! death you are mad provoker on road to road
-August 09, 2018
*****
Note: - written on Diya Khanam Mim and Abdul Karim Rajib, student of Shaheed Ramiz Uddin Cantonment College, Dhaka were died on 29 July, 2018, Jabal-e-Noor Paribahan ran over them!
Categories:
dhaka, death, depression, nonsense,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Birth, Time; The World!
I have got a long life with a dog-eared corpse.
Explicit heart has not exposed by the verses of the poems!
In the paralyzed residing I can’t go in front of me,
I can’t return to the back of mine!
I hear the vigilance of existence with the unbelievable truth.
I have been created from the globule of subsistence.
I have enchanted many by self-centeredness!
I couldn’t establish the exemplary of gratitude!
And,
I don’t see by seeing how the fire is created from the green trees!
I don’t understand by understanding what might be as like that skies and earth!
Determination breaks down-
To be returned to the purity of the ultimate.
How many days will I be like this?
To whom all the rights belonged,
Will I be able to go towards him at any time!
________________________________________________
June 19, 2009
Kallyanpur, Dhaka;
Bangladesh.
Categories:
dhaka, philosophy
Form:
PA paparazzi,
PA paparazzi,
Pa paparazzi
They're everywhere.
Quick flash it's an image.
Her face in Time Square.
She throws them a kiss.
To show that she cares.
She's the Top Model.
With long Auburn Hair.
She's the top Model.
So, privacies rare.
They know all about
Her new underwear.
She's the top Model.
See the flash glare.
When she lands in Dhaka
They all have to be there.
She is glamorous in aqua.
Oh, my how they stare.
They say ooh and aah.
Their dear Lady Fair.
She's the Top Model,
With long auburn hair.
This poem is about a "Top" Model,
I met on a flight to L.A.
Categories:
dhaka, allusion, celebrity,
Form:
Rhyme
A pond is far away from a pond.
A river and a river-
The distance between them is not so fewer.
The distance between an ocean and an ocean is like the friendship,
Not so far-off.
Are we so? Aren’t we?
The Birth, the Death, the Time, and the Distance of Life
We do not know them.
There are thousands of identities at the means of our dealings.
Today, tomorrow and the past...
One day, we, all, are picture frame.
... Our memories are not frames,
They are the imaginary picture lines at the door of our hearts.
‘Love’ & ‘Loving’ are the two words
They are the dreams of wisdom & accepting.
We have survived, so, we were lived.
We will have lived, because-
We are either someone or somebody of ours.
And, your birthday means to me-
I’ll remember you after Death.
________________________________
September 25, 2009
Kallyanpur, Dhaka
Categories:
dhaka, friendshipocean,
Form: