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Dec 2022 · 151
Requiem for a Love
Asif Iqbal Dec 2022
Look at our Love laying in the coffin,
We could have saved him from dying.
How old was he? One year plus?
A little less than two years?
Let me count his age on my fingers,
He was merely one year
Four months and three days old;
He was as innocent as a cherub.

He did not die in a minute or in an hour;
He went into a coma on a fine December day
When you said, leave me alone,
I don't want to stay with you anymore.

I ran to you on my wobbly legs,
I ran from my office
To catch the bus,
I ran to catch the train,
I ran after you holding
Our malnourished Love in my heart.
I was on my knees,
Crying, begging.
I begged for the food
To feed our malnourished Love.
I begged for some water,
I was miserably trying to revive
Our malnourished Love,
Our first Love,
My first Love.

And

You drove our one-year-old child away,
You treated him like an outcast,
You were afraid of scandal,
As they would like to call it
'Love-jihad'.
In front of you I was desperately
Trying to catch my breath,
Trying to breathe into him
Some oxygen.
But I was helpless.
He needed both his parents,
And I was all alone.

I wish I was aware of
The imposed identity
That I was born into;
I wish he was aware of
Class, caste, religion,
And all other invisible barb wires.
But he was my child
And he was as dumb as me.

I conceived him
When I first saw you
Sitting on a red chair
In our departmental room;
You were chatting
With your newfound classmates.

I reared him up
In my heart not for nine months
but for two long years
Before I gave him to you.

We could have saved him together.
You could have saved him with a phone call
Or just a text would have been sufficient.

But

He is long dead now.

I hope you have enjoyed
Watching his rigor mortis.

Perhaps it's better that
He is dead now,
He was a threat to your society.
The brute is exterminated,
Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
Asif Iqbal Nov 2022
কাকের কর্কশ ক্যাকোফোনি,
অনতিদূর থেকে ভেসে আসা
একঘেয়ে ধাতব শব্দের দাপাদাপি,
পাশের ঘুমটির একলা ঘরে
কালো শিশুটির অবুঝ কান্না।

কিছুদিন আগে কানাঘুষো গুজব রটে,
আছে তার বাবার বিবাহ বহির্ভূত সম্পর্ক,
বড়লোকের সমাজ করে তাকে ঘরছাড়া,
আর একলা মাকে দুধের শিশু ফেলে
করতে বাধ্য করে লেবারের কাজ।

মাঝে মধ্যে হাউই জাহাজের
হুশ করে উড়ে যাওয়া ব্যর্থ শান্তনা
পারেনি তাকে চুপ করাতে,
পারেনি তাকে আনন্দ দিতে।
তার ভিজে কালো চোখে সাদা আকাশ
আর, কয়েক মুহূর্তের সাদা শব্দের অবকাশ।

তারপর আবার
অসহায় মনকে নিয়ে শব্দ দানবের কাড়াকাড়ি;
শব্দই নাকি ব্রহ্ম, মানিনা। ব্রহ্মদৈত্য।
পাড়াগাঁয়ে হারিয়ে যাওয়া সবুজে
কোথায় সেই ভরদুপুরের নিস্তব্ধতা?
কোথায় সেই বিরাম? কোথায় সেই বিশ্রাম?
Nov 2022 · 119
ফানুস
Asif Iqbal Nov 2022
শহরের প্রান্তরে লুক্কায়িত লজ্জা,
প্রুফ্রকের বেনামী এই জঞ্জাল জমিতে
গতরাতের ধস্তাধস্তির চিহ্ন যত্রতত্র;
সভ্য সমাজের ফেলে দেওয়া ভাঙাচোরা খেলনা,
দোমড়ানো মোচড়ানো আসবাব পত্র,
বিকেলের বাতাসে পলিথিনের পোড়া গন্ধ।
আস্তাকুড়ের উপত্যকায় ছড়িয়ে ছিটিয়ে
কিছু কাদাখোঁচা মানুষ,
আবর্জনার স্তূপের উপর বসে থাকা কালো ছেলেটার হাতে
দাগ লাগা সাদা ফানুস;
তার কাদা মাখা ছেড়া প্যান্টের পকেটে
বেলুন হওয়ার অপেক্ষায় কতগুলো কুড়িয়ে পাওয়া নিরোধ।
পঁচিশ টাকা বেশি গোনার আশায় গনিকা
পৃথিবীর অন্ধকার দেখা থেকে পারেনি তাকে করতে রোধ।
অনেকগুলো মারন রোগ বাসা বাঁধছে
সেই বীরাঙ্গনা বারাঙ্গনার একটা শরীরে।
এখানে ফেলে রেখে অজানা পাপ
শহরের ঝাঁচকচকে ভিড়ে মিশে তার অজানা বাপ।

আগের দিনগুলোর ক্লান্তি নিয়ে
বেজারমুখে সন্ধ্যে আবার ফিরছে,
সূর্য আজ আবার মুখ লুকিয়েছে বস্তির ওপারে;
দূরে কাছে রাতের শহর জাগছে,
মেয়েমানুষের ঘরে মদ্দালোকের আনাগোনা বাড়ছে,
পচা মাটিতে কেউ যেন দামি আতর ঢালছে।
13/04/18
Nov 2022 · 321
গোঁড়ামি
Asif Iqbal Nov 2022
ধর্ম মানে      তুমি বৌদ্ধ, আমি খ্রিষ্টান,
ধর্ম মানে      তুমি হিন্দু, আমি মুসলমান।
ধর্ম মানে      টিকি আর দাড়ির গোঁড়ামি,
ধর্ম মানে      তুমি ভুল, ঠিক আমি।
ধর্ম মানে      এক নিরাকার নার্সিসিস্টের দাসত্ব,
ধর্ম মানে      তুমি মিথ্যে, আমি সত্য
ধর্ম মানে      চিন্তার পরাধীনতা,
ধর্ম মানে      তোমার ধর্মে আমার অসহিষ্ণুতা।
ধর্ম মানে      মানিনে আমি বিজ্ঞানের তত্ত্ব।
ধর্ম মানে      হোক না আমার ভাষা অকথ্য।
ধর্ম মানে      আমি মানবো না যুক্তি,
ধর্ম মানে      শুধুমাত্র আমার ধর্মেই মুক্তি।
ধর্ম মানে      আমার ধর্ম শ্রেষ্ঠ,
ধর্ম মানে      তোমার ধর্ম নিকৃষ্ট।
ধর্ম মানে      ধর্মগুরুর চোখরাঙানি,
ধর্ম মানে      তুমি কিছু জানো না, আমি সব জানি।
ধর্ম মানে      প্রশ্ন করা পাপ,
ধর্ম মানে      চোখ বন্ধ করে অন্ধকূপে ঝাঁপ।
ধর্ম মানে      আমি সংখ্যাগুরু, তুমি সংখ্যালঘু,
ধর্ম মানে      আমার ফাঁদে তুমি ঘুঘু।
ধর্ম মানে      ছবি আঁকা বারন
ধর্ম মানে      শিল্পীসত্বার হত্যা অকারন।
ধর্ম মানে      যদি করো নবীর অপমান
ধর্ম মানে      আমি শয়তান নেবো তোমার প্রাণ।
ধর্ম মানে      হতেই পারি আমি অমানবিক
ধর্ম মানে      কিন্তু আমিতো ধার্মিক।
Written in 2015, just after the Charlie Hebdo shooting incident took place.
Apr 2021 · 246
সে
Asif Iqbal Apr 2021
সে আমার অপ্রকাশিত কবিতার পঙক্তি;
সে আমার অসম্পূর্ণ নাটকের মুখ্য চরিত্র,
আমার মানস মঞ্চে সে সর্বদা উপবীত,
কল্পনার শূন্য থিয়েটারে আমার আনুরক্তি;
নাটকের শেষ অঙ্কে সে-ই আমার হন্তা।

সে একাকী বিকেলবেলার অকারণ বিষণ্ণতা,
সে খোলা নীল আকাশ, সাদা মেঘ ভাসায়
প্রকৃতি যেথায়, সেথায় মুক্তির আশায়
আমার খাঁচায় বন্দি পাখির নিরন্তর ব্যর্থ নিনাদ।

সে আমার বামুনের না পাওয়া চাঁদ,
সে আমার মনের ভিতরে থাকা
না বলা অশেষ কথোপকথন,
সময়ে অসময়ে আপন কর্ণকুহরে
সে আমার সশব্দের হৃদস্পন্দন।

সে বালি দিয়ে গড়া ভাস্কর্য সময়ের সমুদ্রতটে,
যা বিরামহীন ঢেউয়ের পুনরাবৃত্তির প্রেক্ষাপটে
নিষ্ঠুর সমুদ্রের থাবা ভেঙে দেয় প্রতিবারে।

নিয়তির লিখন বদলাতে কে পারে?
তাই হয়ত সে আমার চিরকালের না পাওয়া,
তবুও তাকে নিয়েই মনে মনে
হাত ধরে প্রজ্বলিত পলাশের কল্পবনে
মুক্ত বিহঙ্গের মত হারিয়ে যাওয়া।

ব্যাকুল হৃদে সে আমার না শোনা গান;
তার আমার মাঝে লক্ষ যোজন ব্যবধান,
মনের সুগভীর কোনে লুকিয়ে থাকা
সে আমার অচেনা অভিমান।

সে গ্রীষ্মের মাটিফাটা রোদ্দুরে
আমার মূক হৃদয়ের শূন্য অন্দরে
দাবদাহে চৌচির জমিনে অনাসৃষ্টি,
সে কালবৈশাখীর মেঘ থেকে না হওয়া বৃষ্টি;
যার আশে মন চাতক ঘুরে ফেরে করে হাহাকার।

তার নান্দনিকতার কাছে আমি বড়ো কদাকার;
রীতিনীতির বিভাজনে আমি চিরকালের পর,
তাই দমকা বাতাসে সে আমার তাসের ঘর।

তবু মাঝরাতে হঠাৎ ঘুম ভেঙে
রুপোলী চাঁদের স্নিগ্ধ আলোছায়ায়
আকুল মন আমার ভেসে আসা বাতাসে
না থাকা তার হাসনুহানার সুবাসে।
আমার কলঙ্কীনী চাঁদকে সঙ্গ দিতে তারারা নেই
নীল ঘাসের উপর মুখথুবড়ে পড়া সবুজ আকাশে।
Mar 2021 · 153
Immune
Asif Iqbal Mar 2021
Suzanne stares at him (1)
With a question in her
Evocative eyes,
No disguise, no lies;
But he is cautious now,
He won't let her avow.
He won't let the guard down
For deep down he knows
He cannot afford to get
His heart broken twice;
Won't let one to thaw the ice
And the soliloquy runs
"I won't let anyone in;
I won't let anyone get too close,
I won't trust anyone again,
Never again, never again"

And Suzanne cooks good food
And feeds him delicious homemade pizza
And she gives him a good talk
And tells him to watch the moon;
Suzanne shows him photos from the past
But he has now a heart of a stone
And the soliloquy runs
"I won't let anyone in;
I won't let anyone get too close,
I won't trust anyone again,
Never again, never again"

Suzanne makes subtle move;
Suzanne makes him translate
St. Teresa's speech on love
But he's cautious than ever before
And the raven in him says "Nevermore" (2)
And the soliloquy runs
"I won't let anyone in;
I won't let anyone get too close,
I won't trust anyone again,
Never again, never again"

He now takes good care of
His mended heart
For he knows, nothing aches
Like a broken heart.
And every now and then
He thanks Cecilia in his mind;
For once she loved him
And left him prescind
That made him immune to love.
1. The name Suzanne is a reference to Leonard Cohen's 'Suzanne'. The song 'Suzanne' is beautifully written where Cohen made friendship, love and spirituality hold hand in hand.

2. 'The Raven' by Edgar Allan Poe. Poe was a genius and had much to give had he lived longer.
Asif Iqbal Mar 2021
Oh! pretty moth, you came attracted
To the stone cold and white neon light
And thousands futile attempts made;
Was it not a long and unfruitful flight?

Was it for pleasure or pain you poor being
Came crashing into that heartless thing
That you have become so enamoured of?

Was it painful pleasure or pleasurable pain
For which being wounded every time thereof
You kept rushing on to it again and again?

Are you too blighted by the ominous love
That was destined to be doomed as written
By the crooked and dimmed star above?

Can you not see your love is eyeless?
And you are a mere pawn in a game of chess
Played by an omnipotent ****** disguised
As Fate, or Chance, or Coincidence;
Are you too robbed of your sense
That you have never realised
In what foolishness or anguish
You've conceived a death wish
And unwillingly wanted it to be fulfilled?
University years
Mar 2021 · 142
III (revised)
Asif Iqbal Mar 2021
Dearest Cecilia, you may continue
To torment my forlorn and aching heart,
On every weekday making wounds anew
For another two months ere we all part.
Winged archer's blind arrows pierced me athwart;
At every sight of you, in me your love will renew,
Though for your gold complexion I might be dirt
That you would quite surely like to eschew.
I doubt not you are heavenly stardust,
But for you my feelings thwart I must
Till I bid adieu. Till then I'll try to find
Solace and comfort in my restless mind
By listening to Bosson's discography;
By then I know not the law of Murphy.
University years
Feb 2021 · 122
The Courtesan
Asif Iqbal Feb 2021
In this nameless wasteland
Lay scattered signs of
Last night's jostle in bed,
Thrown away
Broken toys of civilised society,
Torn and twisted e-waste,
Discarded and broken furniture,
Smell of burnt polythene paper
In the afternoon air.

On the valley of garbage
Standing scattered a few shabby people,
Among them there is a dark skinned boy
Sitting on a heap of garbage
Holding a semi-transparent balloon.

Used condoms are
Waiting in his ***** pants' pocket
To become inflated like
The one that he holds in his hand.

The courtesan couldn't stop him
From seeing
The misery of her world;
The client wanted to have her
Without protection
And she wanted to earn
Twenty five rupees more.

Now deadly diseases are
Finding their home
In her courageous body.
Leaving behind the sins,
The father has disappeared
In the bustles of
Glittering cityscape.

Here once again
The Evening is now closing his curtains
With all his yesterday's drudgery,
Again the Sun has hidden his face behind
The shameful horizon of slums.

Near and far
The city is staying awake.
The valley of garbage is now trying
To hide it's rotting smell
With reeking perfume.
Men have started
To come in and out of
Dingy rooms of women
At measured intervals.
Feb 2021 · 152
IV
Asif Iqbal Feb 2021
IV
On asking, with whom she is courting,
She does say that she is being courted
By no one, in assurance comforting;
Yet she speaks, with an air convoluted,
That she has been married to five;
Indeed to her sublime veracity and wit
And bravery, and her pure soul so naive,
And her nonpareil beauty exquisite.
Her pure heart is a shining red ruby,
A diamond worthy of her may impress,
I'm unworthy, with her touch gold I'd be.
Yet upon me she showers not her grace.
Oh! I wish her the diamond worthiest
For I know she'll be then the happiest.
(University years)
Jan 2021 · 120
She love(ed) him
Asif Iqbal Jan 2021
She loved him
That's why she kept hurting,
He didn't love her
That's why he stuck around
And kept holding thorny roses
Ignoring the cuts and bruises.


She loved him
That's why she accused him of infidelity
And he didn't love her
That's why he, like a fool,
Kept trying to prove
Against her false allegations.

She loved him
That's why she just sat at
Her home
While he wept
Out of deep longing at his
And he didn't love her
That's why he rushed to her
Leaving everything behind
Just to soothe her worries.

She loved him
That is why she never wanted to meet him
And he didn't love her
That's why he kept asking for her to meet him.

She loved him
That is why he was her "may be"
And he didn't love her
That is why she was his "one and only".

She loved him
That's why she left him
And he didn't love her
That's why he kept waiting
For her to return.
Jun 2020 · 84
The Truth
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
You saw the light
You came
You saw the dark
You left
Nothing aches like a broken heart
Jun 2020 · 110
III
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
III
Dearest Cecilia, thou may continue
To torment my forlorn and aching heart,
On every weekday making wounds anew
For another two months ere we all part.
Winged archer's blind arrows pierced me athwart;
At every sight of thee, in me thy love will renew,
Though for thy gold complexion I might be dirt
That thou would quite surely like to eschew.
I doubt not thou art heavenly stardust,
But for thee my feelings thwart I must
Till I bid adieu. Till then I'll try to find
Solace and comfort in my restless mind
By listening to Bosson's discography;
By then I know not the law of Murphy.
University years
Jun 2020 · 98
O, Buzzing Bug
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
O, buzzing bug thou came attracted
By the stone cold and white neon light
And thousands futile attempts made;
Was it not a long and unfruitful flight?

Was it for pleasure or pain thou poor being
Came crashing into that heartless thing
That thou hast become so enamoured of?

Was it painful pleasure or pleasurable pain
For which being wounded every time thereof
Thou kept rushing on to it again and again?

Art thou too blighted by the ominous love
That was destined to be doomed as written
By the crooked and dimmed star above?

Canst thou not see thy love is eyeless?
And thou art a mere pawn in a game of chess
Played by an omnipotent ****** disguised
As Fate, or Chance, or Coincidence;
Art thou too robbed of your sense
That thou hast never realised
In what foolishness or anguish
Thou conceived a death wish
And unwillingly wanted it to be fulfilled?
Jun 2020 · 97
Requiem
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
Humanity is ravished a thousand times
And bludgeoned to death at the altar in a sacred place.
Your soul is tortured and torn into pieces
While your half conscious body shrieked at its loudest.

A poppy in your grave, growing in betwixt your legs,
Now you have a thousand stars in your limbs,
In your white bone a lustrous moon stone;
A glowing meteor in your delicate heart,
In your rising and falling ***** an asteroid;
A rushing celestial comet in your cold blue veins;
Atmosphere  in your  single tender taken soft breath.

Come return unto us like a burning fire
Accompanying the cosmic ire
To cleanse us of hideous evils;
To cleanse the earth of those incubus devils.
Wrote on a brutal incident of ****, and ****** of an 8-year-old girl from Kashmir.
Jun 2020 · 171
Home
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
How small we are, yet how big
Our graves that we dig.

In a hut or room, cottage or house,
Are we not laboratory mouse
In the hands of Human Almighty
Who builds village, town or city,
District, state or country?
Are we really folks gentry
Ruling subcontinent, continent?
Are we not the self proclaimed incumbent

Of this planet earth?

Solar system, stars, nebula, cosmos
And then?

Nothingness.

Information is now currency,
Nuclear warheads and biological weapons,
Another man-made big bang on earth;
No room, no house, no city,
No hut, no cottage, no village.
Another hundred years or may be less
To turn the cradle of civilization into a deathbed.

O! Oppenheimer what have you done!
Jun 2020 · 217
Butterfly Effect
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
He doesn’t know why he did that,
He doesn’t know why he stabbed
The bluebird in his rib cage (1)
And let it pour crimson regret. (2)
He doesn’t know how he concealed
The congealed rubies within
And wore a borrowed smile
When his soul screamed, (3)
When that love struggled to strangle
With its choppy fingers (4)
And gave ghastly nightmares
Even in broad and bright daylight
And turned his mind
Into a hopeless battlefield
Soaked with tincture of iodine,
Where like a merciless enemy
He fought against his own self,
Where like a fatally wounded warrior
Tired of ceaseless fight
He craved for eternal sleep.
He doesn’t know why somewhere
A butterfly flapped its wings; (5)
He doesn’t know why he did that,
He doesn’t know why he laid his eyes on
Cecilia.
1.There's a bluebird in my heart
That wants to get out but I'm too tough
I say: "Stay in there
I'm not going to let anybody see"
___'Bluebird' by Charles Bukowski

2. "I tried to **** the pain
But only brought more
(So much more)
I lay dying
And I'm pouring, crimson regret, and betrayal"
___Tourniquet by Evanescence

3. " I painted this picture, painted the clouds as actual blood. The color shrieked. This became The Scream"
___Edvard Munch

4. "By each at once her choppy finger laying
Upon her skinny lips: you should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so."
___Macbeth Act 1 Scene III (line 44-47)

5. Butterfly effect: In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state.
Jun 2020 · 242
La vita è bella
Asif Iqbal Jun 2020
Life is like a twelve-pound cannonball,
Hurled at me at the age of twenty-one
After the propitious graduation is done;
A darkling abyss of despair and a free-fall.

Life is like a half-cocked single-action gun;
One bullet in cylinder and Russian Roulette.
Everything around seemed grey and dead
When the search for employment had begun.

Life is like hooves of trotting horse in turmoil
Impinging deep grooves upon my soul soil
When the neighbour inquires and informs,
"Have you this time filled up group d forms?"

Life is like a hand holding a dagger in the air;
Twisting it deeper in my chest when I overhear
A domineering well-wisher mocks my failure,
"Hah! He made tufts plucking his ***** hair"


Now
Climbing
On my back,
Alack! Sisyphus,
Life is like a mountain
Of lidless responsibilities
And of heaping impossibilities;
A barren land and a dried fountain,
Life in front of me is like a beautiful ape
With a grotesque face laughing at me agape.
May 2020 · 240
Factree
Asif Iqbal May 2020
Four men from the break of dawn
With axe, hacksaw and *****,
Back and forth swaying their head,
And with their mighty brawn
Were hacking down a giant factory
That took small space on earth
Nurtured by air, water, soil from its birth,
Finally it was razed with great victory.
It was a factory which produced oxygen
That could not be gauged by men.
It provided food and shelter
To many creatures without ever to falter.
Without asking for anyone's labour
To them it did unconditional favour.

After a few days came there many men
To build another giant factory again.
They with great vigour cleared the sod
Built a factory with bricks and iron rod.
It was a factory that took over large area,
Workers feared diseases in their trachea
For it ceaselessly vomited black smoke;
By its noise neighbours to their horror awoke.

— The End —