poem
POETRY / Inside
She’s as real as my meandering/ As tangible as tinkering.
Homesick
Once a homebody, nestled in its embrace. Now lost, a wanderer in a boundless space.
Poetry / Cleaner of dawn
She doesn’t need an alarm For the last hour of the night.
POETRY / Olives
Seven feet of mud swept water, /Bodies under rubble.
POETRY / Hidden battle
Her Kohl-rimmed eyes, dangling earrings,/ The chiffon scarf, the satin silk shirt
POETRY / Losing An Arm
It said, my body was no longer needed. / “This is the age of freedom. Let me go, and explore.”
Poetry / Diasporic delusions
Self-confidence shaken, some shattered memories in their side bags
Poetry / We’re still alive
We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death
POETRY / My scarlet incarnation
Being a woman comes to me naturally If not me, then who? I was never asked to be one I was never asked to cook
Inside
She’s as real as my meandering/ As tangible as tinkering.
Homesick
Once a homebody, nestled in its embrace. Now lost, a wanderer in a boundless space.
Cleaner of dawn
She doesn’t need an alarm For the last hour of the night.
Olives
Seven feet of mud swept water, /Bodies under rubble.
Hidden battle
Her Kohl-rimmed eyes, dangling earrings,/ The chiffon scarf, the satin silk shirt
Losing An Arm
It said, my body was no longer needed. / “This is the age of freedom. Let me go, and explore.”
We’re still alive
We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death
Diasporic delusions
Self-confidence shaken, some shattered memories in their side bags
My scarlet incarnation
Being a woman comes to me naturally If not me, then who? I was never asked to be one I was never asked to cook
The Black Cat
This is a translation by Md. Abu Zafor of Bimal Guha’s “Kalo Biral” from the collection ‘E Kon Matal Nritya' (first published in 2022).
