Riding ever inside a pencil
Never say I too tired to go on.
Just go ahead-
Never cease to thrill your inner ability.
Exalt yourself for one more day;
One never knows when the world might end
Just go ahead-
One lives because one doesnot remain inert!
Even your pain will come in handy someday,
So love your sweet agony
And hold your memories as honey.
And remember -all your life you have been doing so.

Reliance brings me to the assurance of psychy:
For me 'hardiness' is even a colourful Garment of my unpleasant days;
Whose each seam is sewn
By the modish touch of mother's gracious hand!

All the feelings including good and bad, panic or scenic,
Divisible by poetry are called the realistic poetry .
       Poetry may be illusive! poetry may
       not be fantastic!
       But we always prefer our nose to
       buried into the book of anthology,
       Because confusion illusion we
       believe in perfection
       21st century generation.

1
Surely poetry is a thing of hope,
Loaded with future and surrounded by the past!
And that is why certainly related to this fact-
I had nothing to lose but something to gain,
And likewise eventually -
I was born to be warrior
Against the world of narrow mindset.
                                 2
Actually if you mind it
I have not been achieved anything special yet now.
Right now only I have the power of observation to form
Rather than apprehension.
                                  3
With poetry I am always looking to achieve more
Than I did today
Because Poetry can never be obsoleted.

Too many people are accessing their hearts at the same time
To grab the love offerings .
But of late my heart is exceptional under overload!

Now a days if your heart is hirring then inform me,
My heart is fully joyous
Overloaded with reciprocal respect of love:
Love me for a little moment
Either false or true;
Definitely it would be replied with bonus!

May be someone has built a house
At the frontier of my heart!
Since somedays , slipping through my fingers
I have lost the sleepy night!
The roar sound of a child is being heard.
Amongs the pensiveness of my mind
There are certain sufferings
Of delivering a child!
Albeit it is unseen,
It is true.
For having the heart of humanbeing
The stirring words are REVOLT
And devoted themselve into deeper meaning of POETRY.
Belike ! The prolong pang is to be end!
Or perhaps ! The ***** dream of flying
By the chariot of literary addiction has to fulfilled!

কবিতাৰ শিৰোনাম: মাতাল সপোন

হৃদয়ৰ পাদদেশত হয়তো
কোনোবাই ঘৰ সাজিছে
যোৱা কেবাদিনৰ পৰাই টোপনি হেৰাইছে।

শিশুৰ বিকট চিঞৰ কাণত পৰিছে
উদ্বাউল মনত প্রসৱৰ বেদনা ধৰা পৰিছে।
চকুৰে নমনিলেওঁ এয়া সত্য।
মানৱ হৃদয় থকা বাবেই
ক্ষুব্ধ শব্দই স্বাধীনতা বিচাৰিছে
কবিতাৰ অর্থত নিজকে সঁপি দিছে।
কিজানিবা অন্ত পৰেই দীর্ঘ বেদনাৰ
আৰু পূর্ণ হয় সাহিত্যৰ ৰথত উৰি ফুৰাৰ মাতাল সপোন!!

Your hateness is my madness!
Like an overflowing poem,
It makes me unstoppable.

Though Poetry is my passion
And this passion is my fashion,
It is not to be shown off :
It spreads from hemoglobin to DNA
DNA to man's foreseeing.

Poetry is the link language of many hearts
Binding its fraternity
It goes through the crowd of feelings!


For many poets Poetry is a white horse of hope;
Sitting on the back of that horse
They ride the journey of illusiveness!