"minar" poems
Yo quiero ser llorando el hortelano
de la tierra que ocupas y estercolas,
compañero del alma, tan temprano.
Alimentando lluvias, caracolas
y órganos mi dolor sin instrumento,
a las desalentadas amapolas
daré tu corazón por alimento.
Tanto dolor se agrupa en mi costado,
que por doler me duele hasta el aliento.
Un manotazo duro, un golpe helado,
un hachazo invisible y homicida,
un empujón brutal te ha derribado.
No hay extensión más grande que mi herida,
lloro mi desventura y sus conjuntos
y siento más tu muerte que mi vida.
Ando sobre rastrojos de difuntos,
y sin calor de nadie y sin consuelo
voy de mi corazón a mis asuntos.
Temprano levantó la muerte el vuelo,
temprano madrugó la madrugada,
temprano estás rodando por el suelo.
No perdono a la muerte enamorada,
no perdono a la vida desatenta,
no perdono a la tierra ni a la nada.
En mis manos levanto una tormenta
de piedras, rayos y hachas estridentes
sedienta de catástrofes y hambrienta.
Quiero escarbar la tierra con los dientes,
quiero apartar la tierra parte a parte
a dentelladas secas y calientes.
Quiero minar la tierra hasta encontrarte
y besarte la noble calavera
y desamordazarte y regresarte.
Volverás a mi huerto y a mi higuera:
por los altos andamios de las flores
pajareará tu alma colmenera
de angelicales ceras y labores.
Volverás al arrullo de las rejas
de los enamorados labradores.
Alegrarás la sombra de mis cejas,
y tu sangre se irán a cada lado
disputando tu novia y las abejas.
Tu corazón, ya terciopelo ajado,
llama a un campo de almendras espumosas
mi avariciosa voz de enamorado.
A las aladas almas de las rosas
del almendro de nata te requiero,
que tenemos que hablar de muchas cosas,
compañero del alma, compañero.
1.1k
Once, there was a candle standing alone on the top of a Minar, no light and no shine.
Then suddenly came a FIRE, kindled the candle shining brightly from nadir to zenith.
But, sometimes the flame of the candle becomes dimmed and again gets back bright shining from the fire.
Again it slows down, and again hopes for the light of fire.
Even then, it never extinguishes.
♥•.¸¸.•♥♥•.¸¸.•♥♥•.¸¸.•♥♥•.¸¸.•♥
I don't know why I wrote this.
But, it's my life.
ㄟ(ツ)ㄏ
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 6:52 AM UTC
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!
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 1:29 AM UTC
Breathless, dizzying. A pain there. Ouch ! Why do my feet hurt? Pebbles ! This climbing to the top. Narrow, could it be any worse? Oxygen, so abruptly scarce. Darkness, pierces the gleaming light. What's that sound? Shussh, merry people alight. Laughter? But a scared child cries. Melancholy? This ascent to the top. The views? Absurd and surreal torpor. The top. Finally, I have arrived. Yet, Desolate. Fearful. Impending doom. Sandals, where are my sandals? I feel unclad. This outrageous wind, cutting me up. Dissected, operated. An angst is born. Go away, not today. An escape ensues. Haste, a quick descent. As my sandals call. And I beckon, and I beckon. 👣
Apr 30, 2020
Apr 30, 2020 at 4:28 AM UTC