am i to burst crackers or light candles or dance in open field or visit a darling spot to celebrate new year’s eve? or
Who are in charge of the destiny of our boys? nobody, they make their own destiny. When I get a job, my worries for
Hair dishevelled, Vermillion cleansed, Skin creased, eyes sunken, Face dry, and voice choked. I ask, ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘Your uncle died.’ ‘How?’ ‘Just a fall
When children cry I cry. When a girl is raped I laugh as a madman , when a clash is fought among
Four corners I have In one are buried my ancestors. In the next There sleeps a cooking pot. Over the third thatched roof
আমি কান্না করি যখন আপনি সহাস্যে জঙ্গল বিনাশ করেন। আমি কান্না করি যখন আপনি হৃদয়ে দেওয়াল নির্মাণ করেন আর নিজের গণ্ডীকে আরও দুর্ভেদ্য
Ask not my country Or state. Ask not my trade Or job. Ask not my tongue Or region. Ask not the colour
Tagore! You are our poet, our identity, Our leader, our mentor, To whom we return At dark nights and in shining days. Tagore! You
1 Bilkis! you are not Lucrece you have no lily hand or rosy cheek and your eyes are not marigolds, hair not golden threads
a poem on love, beauty,death.
A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."