Maa, you are an endless exhibition / of sweet-sour happiness
“The roads are too clean. The sun is too bright,” she thought.
Sumedha replied with annoyance, "I will make him say the words. It's so simple, 'Apni kemon achhen, bhalo?' Why can't he say it?"
A walkway through the crystal-clear lies
justice—where is justice?
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant
I've seen love/ Rolling down from a mother's eyes/ As she picks her lean child, bathed in innocent blood
go further than/ what the hills have seen/ through their ice pick scars
Lacerating the unfortified,/ Picking at the flesh for bad blood to find
Bury your feet where its green And when the air is thin you will see
His five sons/ Were killed and the books...
The beast bellowed below Mushfiq’s bedroom window, propelling rushes of tingles within him. He smiled.
She’s as real as my meandering/ As tangible as tinkering.
Her Kohl-rimmed eyes, dangling earrings,/ The chiffon scarf, the satin silk shirt
We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death
This is a translation by Md. Abu Zafor of Bimal Guha’s “Kalo Biral” from the collection ‘E Kon Matal Nritya' (first published in 2022).
Time to set sail for a new cruise, oh dear voyager Sindbad!
A story of an ordinary man and his very ordinary journey.
