Long Bangla Poems
Long Bangla Poems. Below are the most popular long Bangla by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bangla poems by poem length and keyword.
At this very moment coolies screamed, ‘train',
We scampered packing up our bags and bales,
A long-awaited train’s a certain bane,
But this one turned a boon, such were the tales,
An English gentleman hailed our hero
From his carriage and we parted to go
Our diverse ways—to our cattle-class seat,
There was no chance to know who that man was,
Nor yet more light on his tale could be lit,
Indeed, never-ending may prove some pause.
Some truths, some lies of life lie ever so,
Maybe, he took us as credulous fools,
A painful nerve and anxious seldom cools,
Some truths and lies born are never to know,
Perchance the man minted fun at our cost,
And damsels in distress lay buried, lost.
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
Fame and football
This morning, a British newspaper read
On the net, a news item was written about a family
called Beckham, a son who wanted to leave
and find his own way
I thought the story was irrelevant and fit as
a news item
The Tv evening news in Portugal showed
the same story, with photos of members
of the afflicted family; one can say it was
a banal story that often happens in families
and often get solved by time, and why would
That story interests viewers in Portugal
It has later been pointed out to me that
A Beckham was a famous footballer married
to a woman who used to be on TV.
Fame is like a red wine spot on a carpet
It takes years to rinse off and get on with life
If the world were a perfect world,
Love would naturally abound.
And in this utopic dreamworld,
there would be no pain to be found.
Peace and brotherhood would nourish
hope and idealistic dreams.
And Nature's bounty would flourish,
in Her oceans, rivers, and streams.
From rare orchids to Edelweiss,
flowers would encircle Earth's girth.
And we'd all live in paradise;
a virtual heaven on Earth.
All diseases would disappear
nobody would die of hunger.
And we'd only cry happy tears,
while the old would feel much younger.
But alas, the world isn't perfect:
Hunger and poverty exist!
And diseases kill, and inflict
pain, while wars and famine persist.
Esoteric mountain
The track leading up to the mountain
that had no spire but was as flat as a prairie
in Idaho, dark soil and spuds
My faithful dog refused to follow
preferred to hang around at slopes
she looked worried
On reaching the topless mountain
the sun was hot and had a dizzy spell
before passing out, I saw a mule
Someone carried me the stream's
nascent, pure water for me to drink
I found a lump of sugar in my pocket
I looked around and saw no humans
but heard the murmur of a whisper
from hearty, green grass gossiping
When rested, walked down and
found a bar with a neon sign in red
mystified, I thought of ill omen
In the salon, I told the barman what
had occurred, he visibly paled and said
leave the unseen ghosts alone
They are a choir that disappeared on
on a field trip a hundred years ago
at night, they sweetly sing for us
Coming out of the den, the dog waited
and led the way to the main road, but
what was the mule trying to tell me
Bhanu Singher Padaboli
Eight (gahan kusum kunja majhe)
O'er the Eden grief, solitary floral, she. myriad, myrtle
a soft croon of oblivion, the harp of the wind, weaverbird humming thistle
Overcoming the fear, verses as they weave beyond subtle murmur
Soulmate, a windcatcher, come along, fly on, o fly on!
The sky blue innocence a morn and my morning dew
the heart song a love blossoming in the river song, unsung
The bright eyes and the rest with the fallen tranquil, endeared a dear gaze
Hold the step and come along the greenery, my first try, dwell in togetherness
the thistle sundried, bless the time, fragrance and abundance plethora
the pleasure of sound, the warmth, they weave unsung
the moonlit eve pouring elixir
the promise of a morning song, along in the long
the color stroke in diva, they sprung, one by one
in million, and more, unsung beyond the troubadour charm
an Esperanza and solitary she in company of trochaic along
Jasemine blossoming in hue a morn, dear born! Sing along
Lo and behold my reverie, my seasoned soy
the churned delight of the sunlit zeal
a sweetened cuddle as the moonlit innocence
warner is she, transitory as she sang and wills on unison
Come along the oblivious morn, a song a lull, a hymn croon
we will sing and the song wills on whence the sculptor time
the foothill and a tear and smile
the anonymity of a penname, so shall they bond, beyond!
........................................................................................................................
Bhanu Singher padaboli
Eight (gahan kusum kunja majhe)
Song: Gahan Kusum Kunja Majhe
Artist: Avik Deb
Therapy session 4
In the profound darkness of a frigid night, I can hear his labored breathing. He appeared to be worn out yesterday. Today, I find myself fatigued by the wounds of love, exhausted by my inability to trust in this concept we call love completely
. Love is meant to be gentle; love is meant to be forgiving. While he longs to cuddle, I simply desire to rest. Inspiration for a poem strikes me unexpectedly, often during the most mundane moments.
I cherish his smile; I enjoy the sensation of his rough, unshaven stubble against my skin. As I write, I continually reinvent myself—Joy Harjo. Yet, with each word,
I also remember the struggles and painful moments I’ve encountered. I think back to betrayal—Annie Lander.
It wasn't merely infidelity; it was the haunting vision of my partner engaging intimately with others, eliciting their cries.
My restless thoughts persist in posing questions that elude answers. Still, I have sought divine protection for my well-being. May my fears transform into verses that help me grasp why the most agonizing experience on this earth is to love a man.
“Sometimes, giving all of your love isn't much to save a good soul; it demands soul for a soul as fair payment.” — Gurusharan Singh
To office when I rushed to ask old Khan,
To tell me meaning if at all of all,
And what I learnt from the old man was this:
A story of countless unrequited,
Unfulfilled longings, lurid flames of red,
Wild carnal pleasures raging within walls
Of the palace of ill repute, the curse
Of collective heartaches of teenage girls,
Of blasted hopes that made every stone nurse
A red grudge against evil perpetrators,
The thirst of hungry stones, palace a whole,
In long years turning into prime haters,
Eager to swallow any living soul,
Like a famished ogre on eating spree,
Not one that lived there three nights of a pause,
Could have escaped safe from its cruel jaws,
Save, Maher Ali— from all reasons free.
So, there is a way out for my release,
I posed, ‘of course for a man of your means,
Why stay beyond tall hills, if you so please,
And you do well know how it all begins—
Tale of a bud caught in a stormy sea,
And fated to live at that haunted shore,
Scarce anything could more pathetic be,
Anything more heart-rending to the core'!
_____________________________________________
Narrative |01.04.2024|
Note: A poetic translation of Rabindranath Tagore’s story in Bengali: Kshudhaarto Paashaana, divided in I to XIV parts, largely in blank verse that lapses into rhymes along with its twists and turns. The story is known to have happened during Tagore’s stay at Shaahibaug palace in Ahmadabad, the nearby river Sabarmati becoming river Suista in the story.
My village around the borderland, estranged
Mountain from the other side, rejoiced within gray shaded area to bloom
Echoed the echo of the midnight hymn, darkened a shade, deeper fill in xanthosis, lasted beyond the yonder valley o'er the meadow, fall color blossomed then.
Echoed a sound lasted, I heard, an echoed a sound lasted
Eavesdrop and a try , as I meant for that
Beyond the sensible perception, to understand
Opening the eyes, I try to see
A failure to gaze to perceive a gaze
Closing my eyes , I am a fanciful thought
O intellect , I failed to perceive that
I am a failure to a thousand mountaineer causes , caused
A failure to climb those events larger than a life, presented
Echoed the echo of the midnight hymn, darkened a shade, deeper fill in xanthosis, lasted beyond the yonder valley o'er the meadow, fall color blossomed then.
Echoed a sound lasted, I heard, an echoed a sound lasted.
Based on a song from subcontinental vibe
Random Journey
Is the inception of a voyage the end of abstract nothingness?
Or the beginning of conscious life as driving to town buying the papers.
I remember a song, “Set sail at Sunset.” humming the words.
A red sun and calm sea, this not the crossing of Styx after sundown
ss it immaturity making fun of me again you can’t sail to Afghanistan?
I can sail there in a balloon and land where the Taliban shoots holes in the sky
smoke American cigarettes, we can drink coffee and have a natter.
The problem is, you can’t see any women like they do not exist.
It is like walking without crutches on a broken leg.
No one reads the “Guardian” in this part of the world.
I sit here and wait not for crossing any rivers but to sail the seventh ocean.
Electric cars
I have always liked cars and like driving often for pleasure
I like the many styles of cars, from Mercedes to Lada,
I have driven both, and apart from the hard seat
I do have a soft
for the Lada; as for Mercedes, it doesn't need my write-up
to know apart from being stylish, it also has a used car value
the misunderstood Lada had.
Lately, cars tend to look like one another, hatchback and small
4 wheel drives pretending to be muscular
of the many cars, few are made in the USA, until recently
now we have Tesla, big, smooth, and artless, designed by
a computer and a hundred technicians in white coats
it is said:" Too many cooks spoil the broth."
I stop with my small Mercedes that has a high seat and clear
View at a roundabout waiting to go, Tesla inches forward
looking like an elegant lady who has paid for her beauty
by sacrificing her womb, no one will remember her when
something new appears, and it will!
I have had many cars, bought for their charm sometimes
they broke down, but they had what Tesla did not
Personality!!!