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"jabbar" poems
After the first sleep comes the second morning, the realm of meditative calm, gifts we forgot we left ourselves, in the time that time forgot, in the lands we left behind. In Tibet, the most skilled monks cover great distances using the mantra of the Lung Gom, a rhythmic matrix leap.  i use a car or my memory to achieve the same. As a child i captured fireflies from my grandmother's back yard, holding them captive in a jar until they proved themselves, making me their Gom Jabbar. Now later along i feel the vibration of life in my car as i drive. i have no wish to synchronize with it.  My rebellious days are mostly over, or few in number. My subconsciousness has accepted my inevitable death.  That is alignment enough, nature's Gom Jabbar to my neck, regardless of what i prove before: like the fireflies in the jar... like the death rattle of my car... like the memories i sought, struggling against union, fearing the Gom Jabbar, mouthing the Lung Gom.
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Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
derek-yohn
Mouthing the Lung Gom
After the first sleep comes the second morning, the realm of meditative calm, gifts we forgot we left ourselves, in the time that time forgot, in the lands we left behind. In Tibet, the most skilled monks cover great distances using the mantra of the Lung Gom, a rhythmic matrix leap.  i use a car or my memory to achieve the same. As a child i captured fireflies from my grandmother's back yard, holding them captive in a jar until they proved themselves, making me their Gom Jabbar. Now later along i feel the vibration of life in my car as i drive. i have no wish to synchronize with it.  My rebellious days are mostly over, or few in number. My subconsciousness has accepted my inevitable death.  That is alignment enough, nature's Gom Jabbar to my neck, regardless of what i prove before: like the fireflies in the jar... like the death rattle of my car... like the memories i sought, struggling against union, fearing the Gom Jabbar, mouthing the Lung Gom.
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Here love blossoms Here people come running frankly Here the head bows in reverence Here Bengali is the book of poetry. Here is a fistful of hands in vows to remember the martyrs Here the Bengali's roared Such as Ekushey of Bahanna one day Woke up. The world has seen a lot of shots Didn't see the language soaked in blood February! Hyena's team is so brazen and so barbaric Kari wants to take her mother's language Salam-Barkat Rafiq-Shafiq Jabbar The vigilant guard of the mother tongue poured out the ****** of the chest. Then a Mujib at the front of the procession Sheikh Mujib is at the forefront of history Bengal and Bengali took the lead Fifty-two sixty-two - we got the demand to survive The days of seventy-nine fires have come Bangabandhu got Bengali Day of release ahead. In nineteen years, Bengalis took the form of the liberation army Twenty-one to seventy-one Mujib gave the call - at the March racecourse When he heard the shackle-breaking poem "This time the struggle is for freedom" ... The fort was built from house to house The defeated Pak army looked at him with a smirk The red-green flag flew over the open land of Bengal The people of Bangladesh chanted the slogan in unison - Joybangla! The world has never seen such a February, such a March, such a December of victory Proud Shaheed Minar with red-green flag!
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Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Shahjahan
The poem Written by Professor Nani Gopal Sarker
Here love blossoms Here people come running frankly Here the head bows in reverence Here Bengali is the book of poetry. Here is a fistful of hands in vows to remember the martyrs Here the Bengali's roared Such as Ekushey of Bahanna one day Woke up. The world has seen a lot of shots Didn't see the language soaked in blood February! Hyena's team is so brazen and so barbaric Kari wants to take her mother's language Salam-Barkat Rafiq-Shafiq Jabbar The vigilant guard of the mother tongue poured out the ****** of the chest. Then a Mujib at the front of the procession Sheikh Mujib is at the forefront of history Bengal and Bengali took the lead Fifty-two sixty-two - we got the demand to survive The days of seventy-nine fires have come Bangabandhu got Bengali Day of release ahead. In nineteen years, Bengalis took the form of the liberation army Twenty-one to seventy-one Mujib gave the call - at the March racecourse When he heard the shackle-breaking poem "This time the struggle is for freedom" ... The fort was built from house to house The defeated Pak army looked at him with a smirk The red-green flag flew over the open land of Bengal The people of Bangladesh chanted the slogan in unison - Joybangla! The world has never seen such a February, such a March, such a December of victory Proud Shaheed Minar with red-green flag!
Continue reading...
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