"belike" poems
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!!
Dec 12, 2017
Dec 12, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
The quiet whispers taunt me.
In the night beneath the umbral waves
The humble haze still haunts me.
Through daunting ways these gauntly wraiths
Yet flaunt the ways they wont me
To nightly pangs of hunger,
Reins, and tormenting unending.
Belike the blaze of spectral flames
Will burn my soul as kindling
Til naught remains but rotted frames;
To this my will is dwindling.
The ghastly echoes call me.
From my slumber come the rumbling of
A hunger that befalls me.
Amidst the stomach grumbling come the
Numbing screams, appalling
Dreams, they seem to plead with me,
Indeed, beseech me, drawling
In tongues unknown to me. Their bleat
Is strangely so familiar.
But one would tone above the rest
That said: "Behold! A killer!"
Aloud phantasms sing
Their eerie verses full of curses.
Terse, yet maddening.
Severe at first, yes, but the worst,
Perverse, the last conceived
Verse that's heard as they rehearse
Coerce a lasting bleed
From eyes and ears and nose. Behold
Those bursts of plasm brings
The fiends that thirst as they traverse
Headfirst through fathomed greed.
My bonds begin to break.
As all these raunchy melodies
Beset me, here I shake.
Conniptions, fits, and predilection
Of sadistic traits.
No longer can they be restrained,
The bloodlust must be slaked.
Among the graves of wanton slaves
Where staunch stench radiates
I wake to see nightmarish scenes
So garishly ornate.
Hailed by an astral choir.
Their incantations of damnation
Hasten my desire
To sever, **** obliterate,
And purge through blood and fire
The filth, the waste, that permeates
This place that earns my ire.
A desecrated wretch, her fated
Death be made entire.
Raze her face with razor blades,
Exsaguinate the liar.
The blood moon's macabre glow
Bids me to forbidden deeds
And beckons me below.
A severed head and crimson red
Flora form a show
With shredded flesh. Lecherousness
This foetid mess invokes.
I taste the blood...Oh, what a rush!
By lust I feel possessed!
The litanies have conjured me
To binge on blood and death.
Nov 5, 2019
Nov 5, 2019 at 12:37 PM UTC
God is neither an 'it', nor a 'who'
At odds with religions and people too.
Is, was and will always be – they say
Kneeling, prostrating, devoted, they pray.
God isn’t a deity, an idol or divine
Nor dwells in temples or craves for a shrine
Oft summoned over rebuttals, belike;
By mono, poly and atheism alike.
God is the perpetual rain that can fall
Over the cold and unkind hearts of us all.
Soaking them in hope and flooding them with light,
Kindling the love and rinsing the spite.
God is the credo people should be told,
To be gentle with young, polite with old,
Kind to parents, loving to wife,
To be loyal to friends and call it a life.
Mortal is a universal axiom, hitherto.
God is a paradox, just waiting to be true.
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 4:50 PM UTC