Long Dhaka Poems
Long Dhaka Poems. Below are the most popular long Dhaka by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Dhaka poems by poem length and keyword.
Notes of B-Flat during the days of C sharp:
Amma permitted me to listen and sing with a music teacher, the year was 1985-1986. In 1985 we used to live in Mymensingh. After moving to Dhaka, I could practice for a few months more, a harmonium and my musical notes in my own diary.
The teacher I got first was a strange humble guy. Some of the Tagore songs were of a mature kind, but he simply did not mind. My brother could also one of that, “bara asha kore”, was another famous tagore song, like that.
With whom you sang a song, with whom you played your harmonium. A list to be made.
A Saturday tribute to this classic reserve of Bangladesh.
Tonight, the sound of rain, drizzling mourn
Remember your face, once.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, with eyelashes clouded in aches
Hide your face , on another side.
With heartache, witnessing duo in melancholy
You, soar with your wings, high above, O holy!
With heartache, witnessing duo in melancholy
You, soar with your wings, high above, O holy!
You are sitting there, alone
You forgot the way back home.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, hide your face, on another side
Tell me, how far will you go?
Tell me, how far will you go?
Your path will find me as a pleasant companion.
Tonight, the sound of rain, drizzling mourn
Remember your face, once.
Two eyes, brimming with tears
You, with eyelashes clouded in aches
Hide your face , on another side.
Based on a famous Bangla song of Niaz Mohammed Chowdhury
> There is a new world rising,
Not in thunder, not in fire—
But in a silence so deep,
It echoes across the galaxies.
181 nations, long forgotten by history’s biased pen,
Have gathered—not in conflict, but in covenant.
From the ruins of colonial greed,
A golden phoenix stirs.
The old gods of currency—Dollar, Euro, Pound—
Fall like crumbling idols.
In their place, a New Tender rises,
Digital, decentralized, rooted in equity.
No more IMF.
No more World Bank puppeteering the poor.
No more UN charades.
These houses of power dissolve,
As the Global South becomes the Sun that never sets.
Asia leads—not with conquest, but with consciousness.
Their minds merged with machines,
Yet their hearts remain deeply human.
Africa, awakened,
Not the dark continent, but the cradle of light,
An industrial colossus with rivers of AI,
Solar cities rising from the red dust of the Sahel,
Robotic farms blooming in the Congo.
No more borders—only bridges.
From Dar es Salaam to Dhaka,
From São Paulo to Shanghai,
A single government rises—not to control, but to harmonize.
Europe...
Once the iron-fisted ruler of centuries,
Now reduced to scattered provinces,
Its castles turned to factories,
Its people, wandering for work—
The way others once wandered into Europe.
Its population?
6% and falling.
Its pride?
A ghost in the winds of progress.
But there is no revenge.
Only balance.
The great seesaw of time has swung.
And in its justice, peace has finally arrived.
For the first time in a thousand years,
No wars rage.
No child sleeps beneath drones.
No color defines your worth.
Racism becomes a fossil, buried with the empires that fed on it.
The air is clean.
The waters heal.
The forests rise like emerald fortresses.
Genetic mastery allows disease to be undone.
Human intelligence—no longer bound by biology—
Expands a millionfold.
We speak in silence.
We move in light.
We live in balance with the Earth.
And for 100 years,
Humanity dances with peace.
This is not a dream.
This is a revelation.
And the prophets smile from beyond the veil:
> *"At last," they whisper,
"The Earth has remembered herself."
Finishing the game,
Starting happiness
Over,
ICC 20 overs-
Winning the purpose of game,
Putting the hands of might on the shoulders of fame
Twenty,yes,twenty-
Twenty million Sri Lankans hands played,
Twenty million Sri Lankans hands prayed,
To bring victory to all the Seven billion people
On this planet
Up and down,
Right and left,
In all the directions in air,
Fled the ball like a jet
In tired and in pain the Ball, hitting it's head on the bat
Every bit of soil of Dhaka kissed the ball,
Rolled all over it's chest,in proud
Dhaka in delight and in full of light
As the moon and stars came close to the Earth,
To witness the game
Sun found a hide out fearing the mighty Earth!
Small and beautiful, Sri Lankan Island,
But,very big it's heart,
Give me time,enough time
To portion the victory,
To every man,every woman,every boy and every girl on the Earth
Look at your right shoulder,the right foot,
Look at your left shoulder,the left foot
Of the champion,SANGAKKARA!
Hats off,Sri Lanka,
CONGRATULATIONS!
Bio
Tanvir Mostafa is a poet, writer, and educator from Dhaka, Bangladesh. Inspired by Wordsworth, Keats, Tagore, and Nazrul, his poetry explores love, nature, pain, friendship, and social realities. Rooted in lived experience, his lyrical and sincere voice seeks to evoke empathy and give expression to truths often left unspoken.
In Search of a True Friend
My mood gets low,
Heart wants to grow.
Need a friend to solace my sorrow,
Without friend, life is narrow.
I seek company in bonafide nature,
I flee to nature to get the pleasure.
Life is a bare fiend, if trust is never,
A true friend found makes joy forever.
Nature is soothing, listener and betrays never,
I need a true friend, whom I can share.
A true friend is like nature,
Who won't betray me ever.
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