Poetry
Poetry
Four poems of
Quazi Rosy
Measuring Time
Stop, look at the crimson hue of the sky
There you’ll see the tapestry of Bangladesh
Calling out, ‘Mother’, like the waves of the river
The month of February mix with the blood stream of shahids
The mother language got its international status
To Bangla and to the Bangalees
Brought immense trust
Created resistance and showed protest
The avenues shievered at the bloodshed of the shahids
The air filled with the smell of gunpowder
The words and sounds of the language is heard
The sing the songs of liberation
Shall remain heard hundreds and thousands days
Echoed continuously
A few persons turned into thousands
They kept Shaheed Minar and Smriti Shoudha
in their heart
Earlier Bangalees used to call ‘ma’
They even call it now
In their heart
The birds of languages fly
Measuring the time.
Invention of Heart
Want to take away the sky-full of clouds, take away- only
give me a few sprinkles of sunrays, I want to see this world
anew.
This morning opened up that brilliance of light, for which
everybody will desire whole years with all the celebrations and
longing for good wishes. Behind piles of sufferings unspoken
voice of heart shall speak out to the Baishakhi thunder-storm…
The storm will speak to the river, the river will express it to
the path, path will show the paintings of the annual diary of
human beings that are left behind, the green field ‘turned
barren for drought, and there was deluge, the days, months
and years passsed, so Shraban wept, Ashwin smiled, Paush
shievered, then everyone knew . . . the condition of the Spring
poem under the glamour of the hotel.
The path will also show the water-body filled moonlight of
future, a diagram of satisfied mother that are engulfed by
green sari-end. Shall take away to the brim of desired receipt
of green revolution. There might not be bright sunlight, the
leaves-full trees do not smile, a flock of Shalikh will fight for
a few pieces of straws n the cropland . . and build a chirping
world of daybreak.
The peaceful melodies of drums could be heard in the waves
of processions day and night to express the liberation of
Bangla. Baishakh sunlight, Chaitra afternoon shall be
mingled with the prices of yearlong pure breeze in the
peaceful home. There’s no existance, no invention except the
serene candle-light of heart.
Liability
If you give me a pinch of belief
I will be indebted to you for rest of my life
If you give me a bit of sustenance
I will remain in your magnitude
If you give me a touch of courage
I’ll break apart all your adversities
Make me of your own
I’ll never become myself again
If you give me love
I’ll give you all the worlds of love
If you teach me to walk to the path of death
I’ll only die for you only
If you live for me
I’ll be ever indebted in all your existences.
Soul of Bangalee
The trail touches the green boundery
The waves touched the banks of broken stream
The Sunbeam touches the golden harvest
The days of autumn touched the seeds
Marry-go-round mix with heart
Blow away the accounts of the previous days
The boatsman rows near the river-market
To recover his earlier accounts
Chaitra breaks down all the prior records
Baishakh brings all the new aspirations
Enlivens the spirits of Bangalee nation
The future moments will turn into
tomorrow
A year is gone and a new years comes
Let everyday turn into the day of hope
Every person shall eat to his heart’s content
The courtyard of family enjoys new
harvest.
Translated by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
Chairman of Bangladesh Institute of Philatelic Studies (BIPS)