O' wanderer where do you search for home In light of fireflies do open you soul see the moonlight at your mind's attire. You're bemoaned for the wounds that roaming around your life even the sun moon and stars are mean to be get darken at the time of tides.
You longs for love but preach griefs, they're disguised In your gestures when the dark nights come and you find no-one you cry like a devastated mourner. O' your faraway gaze happened to amaze now a silence desire you plunge Into the memorial of memories to find the reasons of this Curse.
Translating a poetry from Its prime language Is hard for a wordsmith. All the emotions engraved In are near impossible to convey In another language. So here Is the probable English translation of my Bengali poetry. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Will you be my eve the silver moon over my skin an enchanted land so bewitched that forgets Its day, a wooden ship on the rusty river waves, If you be a kingfisher or cuckoo then take my mind away.
Will you be my hill a green draped alive locality a saffron spring so clear that mirrors the glaucous canopy. Will you be my iris, drizzles of the dark clouds a fairy princess who rides horse being so damn angry.
Will you be my first my perfect companion In canvas a fiddle of murmuring bees at the horizon of springs. Will you be my Astami's morning when you'll come for the prayer wearing a saree, I think you'll look good In a crimson red-edege yellow one.
Will you be my last at the heart's altar ease even In a stormy dark night when the big trees fell. Will you be my Uma the only Queen of Kailasha, will you melt my zillion years of grief and Love me the Fullest.
Flown by the Lord through the things unknown In a ravine abyss of fairy tale, alone by the paths of celestial bodies pulled the string till the heaven or hell. This can't be real, may be a dream, my body was so light and my clothes all damp surely I was drunk In my sleep, by the crossgates of church or the valleys so dead silence of the hearse where strangely fathom disgrage, frost so thick and mist milk-white fumes from the lake was alluring by the side;
A wooden bridge till the middle of lake a mermaid or two was lurking while rehearsing with crafts, hackles so bright and golden In sink silver chirps of rise were gleaming like a beam, may be her tail was legs or her legs were tail and In glee she asked, O' Shepard where are you heading hastily. ' The world knows me by the heraldry of shame but I'm only a life In shackle of seas and rain,' her lips were partly red, a freckle on top sharon of salt was flowing from the head and her breast left brown other zealed In hair and, ' how come the milky way so tattered In zest, stopped by the midway glowing for no interest, the moon is prime here living for the rest, do you know like how they glow during the day.'
I don't, I said. 'Ahh!' But I do know the day must be bright and night darker so that we can yearn for the stars-arise and the moon's shine. Look the moon Is preaching poesy here over the deck shimmering grasses are lunatic bewildered for the Waves to meet a star behind Is twinkling and dazzling by the tunes of pines, oh dear, crickets are so loud and fireflies have joined the fest. Do you know the forest God's wizardry wind! In a blink of an eye he can stop all these In a swing of his wand he can send me back. Lets meet again after a decade's travel when my desert will turn into greens and our heart will be old And....
At your retuning some Immortal stars dazzled over the mountain In eastern sky, waked the sleeping child and craddled her sailed to your homeland. Where the living lush shakes off her trembling grass and the wild rhododendron falls like musky snowflakes, where Is no cruel lord no woven web of bloody heraldry but the little homestays for roving comrades. There praise warm dales for Its tired men with half open book and many winding walk and the rustic lovers there stray at eve In happy simple talk.
O' the lily of Love, pure and white cantitude of your Eyes perfectly lined In black why should I lie even If I die, at the brink of your charismatic eye I fell. The tangle of the forest the silence of the woods and a red moon drifts across your cranium brow and sea washed lips hard to cease, petrify my dauntless Gemini chase, how wiltly you drap green sarees to wave Its crimson edge east. O' the passionate my heart still lies, the melancholia sings me on a moonlight tryst, capricious of thy sea let me sink, for I a hiraeth who loves Thee. (so tell me, where to go for a date Paris Mars Jupiter or over the mountain rafts.)
Where hast thou been O' Confidant(e) which enchanted land has named thy fame of glory the God whom you know so well may quite thine all raven memory, the crash of broken fears, the fierce gleam, from the shivering helm to fearless battle-cry we humans, close-caught In spider-net of fate O' from where you do sync the hope even In deaths.
To fill my poesy with thy praise, so I bow before thy entire race, I bow and broken on life's terrible wheel when I've lost all hopes and heart to sing yet I care not what the ruined times may bring If In thy courage temple thou wilt let me kneel.
Lend me thy velour fill me with hopes for I've lost the alives even before they were gone, blue white saffron, green drap my dead soul In your olive attire or navy seal, my ghost Is frozen cold enough than snow O' torch up thy aspiring command let me heal. O' I've lost the alives and for them I moan teach me to love life and those who loves me More.
You decide what you made me. _____________________________________________
P.s. Every time when I write something, what first thing comes in my mind is this. These lines have stuck in my mind this badly that I believe these lines are originally mine. But the possibilities also could be that maybe I've heard or read it somewhere & I'm influenced by it. Maybe these words belong to someone else. And if it does, please let me know. Either I'll give the credit to the rightful writer or I'll take this post down. Thanks in advance :) Although I've also checked for the plagiarism.
Please feel free to point out at my mistakes so that I could improve & be a better me.
I touched 30 2 years ago this day. Age-shaming much? No way!! it's the media and ads that live in a fearful world, so they scare others too. But the questions deserving perfect eye-rolls and facepalms always stand in a hungry queue "Oh! You are 30 something? you look so young." Someone please tell them. "Darling, 30 is young" "Why you aren't getting married?" Why, because ring in my fingers and a toddler on my waist is the only way to complete me? Sorry to have a bubble bursted but I'm not society's Life planning math workbook or biological ticking bomb that defines my worth by following some bully timelines. I wore a cape of womanhood after so many frostbitten scuffles and relentless struggles that now it graces my flesh and bones. that's quite enough to be the last piece of my life's puzzle.
Journey of a timid 6-year-old trying to identify her father in a star, he said he would look it down from there, to becoming a woman who saw her mother churning herself and tending to her lost kid with 3 shifts under her wing; All this unchained a treasure I don't ever want to part with.
My twenties were a wastral in terms of people I invested in. I let my innocence and ignorance turn alarming snoozes into blazing red flags of friendship that assassinated my self-confidence. But, now I know leaving toxicity while it swirl in a whirlpool of blame games, is not just okay but a sign of strength; of not justifying self for the smallest things.
I am finally In a better place mentally, psychologically, financially yet they want to find a manicured other-half to see me 'settled'. They say the world is changing I'd say it always changes but on the surface because they don't dare dip themselves amidst broken layers of depth, so ignorantly, add some 'must(s)' in a women's life.
I know It's the smallest feat but if you ask me I am proud I got to know myself. I know what I am now I know what I want My passion dances on my eyeballs with a clear vision. I don't feel like that rusty old book at the corner of the shelf no one picks up to read, anymore. I am that freshness of a newly opened pickle jar that instantly fills the surrounding with its aroma. I'm now the potpourri of self- reliance I learned over the past years and the kindness I had been carrying since the childhood. I'm those 32 no stones left unturned whose efforts made people get inspired. Believe me, there is no expiration date to learn something new
I have accepted the fact It's not easy finding metaphors for self while I blacken the white pages with their praises, accomplishments, triumphs. But from now onwards I'd audaciously write about my self because no one writes about the writers and I'm here to break the wheel.
At last, if you want to sway with yourself listen to "It's hard to be a woman" From Something in the Rain I am just attracted to that song.
The moon from my window, the girl lying dead, men being abusive, man's cry is a threat. The sun is out again, the market price is so high, someone orders food to eat half-heartedly meanwhile, I saw an empty stomach crying. The evening is beautiful though, probably bisexual for the dark and glow when shadows are longer than before, same is the route yet long is the way to home,