Long Bangladesh Poems
Long Bangladesh Poems. Below are the most popular long Bangladesh by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bangladesh poems by poem length and keyword.
Lovingly, Apu
Prithwiraj Chowdhury
Pulu, how are you? Are you all well, these days?
This pen is down on spark, too soon, quite a dismay!
These letters are tracing more and more blurry , even more than a foggy winter morn,
Where all these years got eloped, along the way? How come, a mystic fate, for so long?
It seems, as if , these gone days, the sundial rested the bonded mystery on a railtrack.
With a longer story to tell, between, I managed your address , now it is with me.
Silly me! I have simply forgotten to introduce myself, a thing in my task list, yet to see,
Can you recall me? I am roll number forty six, Apurba Kumar Roy, to be more precise.
Last time, I saw you in Nagpur, in a factory workplace.
Do you know what happened, then? I visited Khulna, Aparna’s village place.
Khulna, in Bangladesh, now, so the map says.
Who is there, still living in residence?
Is there anyone remaining, who calls you “Pulu”, other than me?
Kajol is a married family man now, he is posted in Calcutta, with his service.
Apart from all these, let us come to the topic of this letter, why so, why this one, now?
Do not have any clue to begin with words, to fetch a river of tears with cobblestones, to let you know.
It has been almost thirty years since we last met, no correspondence , nothing at all!
Perhaps you will say, “It is all your fault, why did you not do so, to add up to makeup?”
No stories of addition are left these days, all evolved with subtractions along a lifeline!
My sister left at age six, dad at ten, and while at seventeen, mom left me, for good.
And the spring on a blossoming twenty two, took away Aparna, too!
And not only them, in a seasoned present tense, all are gone, the smoke train engine, my nightingale of sorrow.
(To be contd.)
Door arrives door disappears
Door deprives door shares
Had doors been toward one way only
Life would have lost its lustre
With one hand life provides
With the other life robs us
Life sometimes brutally divides
Some other time it is Mother Teresa
When my doors closed several times
I wept but didn’t stop reading poems
My chromosomes of hope kept me supporting
Till a shaft of sunlight brought new doors
The deep green Neem tree in my dream garden
Went into a dizzyingly birdless gloom
Leaves and flowers brutally plundered
Roots torn asunder in my room
But again one day the spring sun stopped by
Clouds called at its door with shower
In the windswept branches came contentment
Now I hug it in a happy deep breath
____________________________________________________
March 26, 2016
Neem is a tree in the mahogany family Meliaceae. It is native to India, Myanmar, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Malaysia and Pakistan. It grows in tropical and semi-tropical regions. Products made from neem have been used in India for over two millennia for their medicinal properties. They are said to be antifungal, antidiabetic, antibacterial, antiviral, contraceptive andsedative. Neem products are also used in selectively controlling pestsin plants. Neem is considered a part of Ayurvedic medicine. – Simple English Wikipedia
Kiddies, I'm sorry to say that Santa may be visiting you late this year,
As he struggles to circle the Earth spreading his delightful cheer!
Santa had to retire Rudoloph and his friends leaving them much aggrieved,
And long-suffering Mrs Claus is in a snit and left sorely peeved!
It may be New Years Day before he arrives, but he'll visit you eventually,
So place a snack of cookies and milk or salami and cheese 'neath the tree!
That old grinch in the White House decreed that dear old Santa's sleigh,
Henceforth, must be battery powered, to be effective on this Christmas Day!
Alas, Santa must land every 350 miles or so, the battery to refresh!
(Hopefully, he can do this in such unlikely places as Bangladesh)!
No longer will you hear reindeer hooves dancing on your roof in the snow!
But be patient, little ones; Santa will greet you soon with a cheery ho-ho-ho!
When true love comes unexpected
Knocking gently on the door
And I open, then you enter
I stand spellbound on the floor
There is light that blinks and flickers
While the shadows dance around
Every heartbeat rhythmic music
Every breath heavenly sound.
Should I move or break the silence
Take your hands, look in your eyes?
I dare not disturb the moment
Where profound enchantment lies.
-------------------------------------------------------
Sponsor: Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
Contest: Name Your Most Romantic Poem of 2014
Placed: 3rd
Contest: Men Only (April 2014)
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
Placed: 4th
[Published in Kavya Kishor, Bangladesh ~ 25 April 2023]
I like your new outfit
You look really smart mate
One could almost say
You're a real fashion plate.
Wearing new clothes can give
You real bird pulling power.
Over in Bangladesh they pay
Just forty eight pence an hour.
That's where are a lot of
Our cheap clothes are made,
In a modern variation of
The sweated labour trade.
Its not just the Cheap Shops
In this exploitation game
Some of the Designer Firms
Are involved just the same.
Bangladesh is too far away
For us to really worry
And besides modern life
Moves at such a great hurry.
Wearing cheap clothes
Can feel so very nice
At times we should remember
Somebody pays theprice:
Sometimes in the shop we
Could maybe give a thought
To the true cost of the gear
We’ve just so casually bought
In the last freported factory fire
Over a hundred maimed or dead,
Just ordinary Bangladeshis
Trying to earn their daily bread.
The Mystery ship
I have read about things like people from March
with dinner-plate eyes and long, thin bodies
If these people are among us, why aren't normal
like Elon Musk, he is smart and will be as well
for a small investment in his business
can give us
riches and free electricity.
Sometimes, when the now and the past collide
we can, in a few seconds, see people that are
no longer among us, we can also call these dreams
as for ghosts, no, they don't exist, but they are great
evil has happened, we might sense a residue of
a whiff of the horror.
in 1950, a ship with scrap iron left Bangladesh
bound for Australia
a day before her captain had
sent a cable requesting a place to doc.
That was the last message
the ship disappeared
wise heads thought they must have sunk
due to a gas- explosion! On a vessel carrying scrap iron?
60 years later, a ship by the name of "Peik" asked
for a harbor pilot, a ship no one had heard of
but looking in the archive, there was a ship with that
name, but she had sunk
they birthed the vessel at an unused pier
and the pilot
when coming ashore looked pale and shaky
said the people onboard looked normal
her captain
wore an old-fashioned uniform, like the crew
was there yet, but seeing them through a film
of layers of time
When the customs officers came on board, they found
product no longer legal, like cigarettes and whisky
only marijuana was legal if smoked in moderation
the populace had stamps to ensure they
stuck to the moderation,
The authorities observed, that if
someone over-smoked, they tended to talk about
freedom of choice
The next day, the ship was no longer at the jetty
The Coast Guard's boat
was sent to sea to apprehend the ship, but no trace of her
those who had witnessed this were told not to talk about
the public must not know, but the pilot did,
lost his job, sent
to prison for spreading false alarm
Do not Push It
I’m like horses do not like the wind today, it is northerly and
The sun, despite shining free of clouds, cannot warm my chilled bones, symbolizing a disconnect between hope and reality that resonates with political disillusionment.
Horses turn their considerable behinds against the wind and keep
My behind is skinny and does not protect my neck, but a scarf offers a quiet reminder of resilience, inspiring hope in the audience.
But a scarf does. I used to have strong fingers, but now they are thin and look.
Like a Bangladesh river delta, and to think there was a time I laughed.
at the face of frost, and if needed, would run bare-chested across
The unfriendliness of the plains of opposite Poles, me, the leader of the pack
And I, the leader of the pack, once met Fidel Castro-an, an icon of dignity, yet his conversations often circled only around himself, a humorous critique of political egos.
God, he was boring —only had one subject — himself.
But I do deviate, I’m only an Argentinean horse adopted illegitimately by
A general major, his wife wanted a foal. The landscape now has a hundred.
Colors of green, but it worries me that if ISIS takes world power, vines will rot on my land, reminding us of fragile stability and shared fears.
Rot on my land, and when they pass on their pick-up trucks, I must wave.
A black, inartistic flag with intelligible writing on it. My wife is the practical one.
Will say: after the Islamists took power in Portugal, my husband finally got
Sober enough to be offered a job as an Imam.
Peace is possible. Let's embrace it fully and globally.
Note: The symbols for other languages will show up as ?.
Peace
By Michelle Morris
28/01/2023
Peace is possible
It isn't just a symbol
We need to embrace it
Within ourselves
Between each other
Between our nations
Whatever language we choose
Let us choose peace
Arabic (Chad, Sudan, Syria)
Salam
????
Bengali (Bangladesh)
??????
Santi
Chinese
Hépíng
??
English (South Sudan)
Peace
French (Burkina Faso, Burundi, Central African Republic, Chad, France, Republic of Congo)
Paix
German
Frieden
Hebrew
???????
Italian
Pace
Japanese
Heiwa
??
Pashto (Afghanistan)
????
Persian
???
Russian
???
Mir
Somali
Nabad
Afrikaans (South Africa)
Vrede
Spanish
Paz
Ukrainian
???
Myr
Xhosa (South Africa)
Uxolo
Zulu (South Africa)
Ukuthula
If I keep saying it in as many languages as possible, maybe it will reverberate through the Universe and people might embrace inner peace, and start to treat each other better
Peace be with you and in you
Peace be with me and in me
Peace be with us and in us
Peace is possible
Let's embrace it fully and globally
Let us embrace it together
Now
Blessings, love and light
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Many years ago, I had gone to Pakistan for a poets’ conference.
They call it a “Shaayari Majlis” there.
The behavior of the Pakistanis, their warmth, the depth of their poetry—
again and again, it left me in awe!
Their wounded hearts expressed in lofty words
left me speechless—
they couldn’t hide their deep love for India,
nor their intense sense of grievance...
How is it that among such devout, deeply sensitive people,
terrorists and murderers are born—
that mystery, even today, I haven’t been able to unravel!
Many years ago, I had gone to Bangladesh for a poets’ conference.
The kindness, warmth, and love for poetry of the Bangladeshis
captivated me!
Their joyous hearts voiced vibrant expressions
that thrilled my soul.
Their deep love for Bangladesh,
and the earnest yearning to become like India,
startled me...
How did these open-minded people of Bangladesh
turn into violent communalists and India-haters?
That mystery, too, I haven’t been able to understand even now!
Many years ago, I had attended a rural poetry conference
in Murshidabad, a Muslim-majority region of India.
The behavior of Indian Bengali Muslims—
their hospitality, sincerity, and reverence for poetry—
enchanted me!
Their noble hearts poured out such graceful expressions
that my chest swelled with pride.
Out of love for the poets, the village audience
did not rise from their seats even for a moment!
How did those same noble souls
turn so violent—
that mystery, too, I have not yet been able to solve!
Perhaps I never will be able to solve this mystery...
Little Santa Helpers
Santa has outsourced his services to child labourers from Bangladesh they
fit zero-sized through chimneys much easier and the leaner they are the
better they share full of joy in the globalised feast of winter communion
Detached they are from ‘wrongful’ beliefs and so much happier for their distant
faithful relation to Christmas plus they are used to half naked toil with
loin cloths draped in native design and fig-leafed in the wider scheme of migrant
extortion minimum wage wasted on them but they might get some
tips from little children on other sides of divides if those can catch them in glee
But then there are milk ‘Ho Ho Beer’ and biscuits by the fireplace laced with
incense and Prozac not licensed for young ones maybe but the booze as willing
sign of cross-culturalization is surely inclusive and a Peace offering sponsored by
‘Alcohol Without Borders’ while the odd trace of Ritalin keeps ordered control
Santa is not really burnt out but neo-liberal delegation is the vogue of the month
and post traumatic stress drones and hoovers on his sick note nevertheless
as his bonuses and shares float on Panamanian waters and now he needs a lungi
as well instead of the red coat extra large without doubt as he burps in the sand
The Bangladeshis meanwhile chirp in silent frost bitten nights but at least there
are soot and ashes no sunburn sometimes carrots with broom sticks thereafter
almost a year of ‘social’ benefits homely rest recuperation free time for Mohamed
They scrub brush and sand their dehydrated skins by the Ganges until they come
to accept the ‘Terms of their Trade’ bow to diversity’s splendour and discern what
is dirt and what their skin colour and it’s the latter that keeps them employed
28th November 2016