Category: Kāvya-Gāthā

কাটে না রাত, আসে না ভোর,
চোখের জলে ভেসে যায় মন॥

কত তারার মালা, হাঁসে কাঁদে,
কত স্মৃতি আমাদের বাঁচে মরে,
তুমি যে ছিলে ধ্রুবতারা,
তুমি ছাড়া আকাশ আজ–
একা, একা, একা!
কাটে না রাত, আসে না ভোর,
চোখের জলে ভেসে যায় মন॥

ঠোঁট থেকে সিগারেটের ধোঁয়া,
মিশে যায় রাতের হাওয়ায়–
ঠিক যেমন জীবন অবসানে
চিতার ধোঁয়ায় মিলিয়ে যায়।
কাটে না রাত, আসে না ভোর,
চোখের জলে ভেসে যায় মন॥

ওই দেখো ভাঙ্গছে ভোর,
নতুন আলোয় নতুন দিন,
কঠোর রোদ জাগিয়ে তোলে।
কিন্তু আমি পড়ে সেই রাতেই,
আমার ভোর– হারিয়ে গেছে!
কাটে না রাত, আসে না ভোর,
চোখের জলে ভেসে যায় মন॥

For a lost muse—
Bardhaman,
Śrāvaṇa Kṛṣṇā Saptamī,
The 24th of July in 2019 CE.

গভীর ঘখন ঘনায়ে রাত
তোমারে আমি স্মরণ করি।

নিশিথের নিঃস্থব্ধ জ‍্যোৎস্না
জাগিয়ে তোলে কবিদের মন।
গভীর ঘখন ঘনায়ে রাত
তোমারে আমি স্মরণ করি।

প্রেম যখন উপেক্ষার রৌদ্রে
ভাসায় আমারে অশ্রুজলে,
তোমারেই আমি স্মরণ করি।

যখন বরষবন‍্যায় হারায়ে সব,
ত্রাহি ত্রাহি রবে হই দিশেহারা,
অকাতরে সর্ব-আত্মত‍্যাগে―
তোমারেই আমি স্মরণ করি।

হিমের হৃদয়ে জ্বলে না প্রদীপ,
এ মন্দিরে নেই দেবতা, নেই স্বর্গ।
অস্তমিতে প্রাণে শুধু হাহাকার ধ্বনি,
নির্মম স্তব্ধতা, অমিত বিরহজ শোক।

কিসের স্বর্গ, কার‌ই বা দৈবত্ব?
আমার স্বর্গ তোমার হৃদয়―
আমার দেবতা তোমার প্রেম।

গভীর হয়ে ঘখন ঘনায়ে রাত
তোমারেই আমি স্মরণ করি।

At midnight’s darkest hour—
My remembrance turns to you.

When the night’s moonlit quietude,
Awakens all poets from their slumbers:
At midnight’s deepest, darkest hour—
My remembrance turns to you.

When love’s indifference scorches,
Breaking the dams to floods of tears—
My remembrance turns to you.

When the monsoon’s torrents ravage,
All hope drowns in pity’s cries unheard,
I give in to time’s ruin, unmoved still—
For my remembrance turns to you.

I have lit no lamp in this forsaken heart.
No gods remain here still, no heaven awaits:
At life’s sunset, there is only devastation’s din.
Cruel silence reigns, limitless grief and anguish.

What heaven do ye all speak of?
Who are these strange gods ye make?
My heaven has always been your heart:
And your love enthroned, its sovereign god.

At midnight’s deepest, darkest hour—
My remembrance turns to you alone.

For a lost muse—
Bardhaman,
Śrāvaṇa Kṛṣṇa Saptamī,
The 24th of July in 2019 CE.

A figure walks by the sea—
A figure from an ill-remembered dream,
Once the heart’s denizen, now a Stranger—
In the twilight of his grief and pain,
Under a canopy of invisible stars above,
He walks on ahead, unencumbered and free.

He steps into the restless waters:
My body shivers at his feet’s touch.
I sing for him ardent paeans of my love,
Sung in the hidden tongues of the heart;
His ears hear my forlorn music in the winds,
And he gently smiles—for he knows my song.

His fingers run across my waters, playfully.
My waves rush forth, eager for his embrace,
Resounding in my old exhilaration at his sight.
The force of my waves topples him into my arms,
Drenched in my warm waters, he laughs out in joy,
I have spread over him, like the dawn over the east—
And at last, our forsaken communion is now restored.

My love sticks to his body and his soul
As the stubborn, warm sand kissing his feet—
An eternity of embraces shattered into dust—
Now made whole upon his golden skin.
They tickle him, teasing him, unrelentingly,
And his laugh flows like rain into my depths:
Our brief moment together now becomes timeless.

Twilight ushers in the night’s desolation,
But the Stranger has found his old peace.
He remembers all the yearnings of yore:
For all things remain, like the stars in the sun.

The Stranger takes his leave; he empties out the sea.
In his footprints remain all but the bruises of our love.
Empty bottles of beer and the ashes of our fires,
Lie strewn around the two empty chairs—one for him,
And the other for me—for us, forever in forsaken wait.

For a lost muse—
Bardhaman,
Jyeṣṭha Śuklā Dvitīyā
The 5th of June in 2019 CE.

You came as light―
A stranger in a foreign land.
Out of life’s boredom and emptiness,
Your face shone bright through my gloom.
All the heart’s sorrows, in the sweltering noon,
You have dissolved at your slightest touch.
Stranger, you have discovered me,
As I have never discovered myself.

Our embraces have grown like the banyan:
One, yet many, and many, yet one― inseparable.
I have spread my roots deep into your soul,
And you have sheltered me with your branches.
We have forgotten now where we once began,
Past and future lost, only an eternal present languishes.

I said to you― I am too dark a place for you, my love.
And you said― so is this universe, for all light is illusion.
Perhaps you are a night flower, you whispered to me,
For you have blossomed in the darkness of your life.
O Stranger, I think we are both blossoms of the night,
And our coming together is the colliding of stars―
We are flowers of the fire, destined to set all ablaze.

I recall your embrace that lasted a thousand summers,
For a thousand winters of my soul they warmed up―
Look, Stranger― look what you made me do!
You cast but a lonely seed, and I bloomed an orchard,
You threw but a tinder, and I blazed forth like wildfire!

So then, mi amor, this is me, for you―
I have poured all my joy into my words,
And now I unleash my ecstasy upon the world:
O Stranger― I bring for you my undying dawn!

For P. N.―
Surat, Kārttika Śuklā Caturthī,
The 11th of November in 2018 CE.

Two birds flew together:
Come rain or shine, summer or winter,
Flying through the dawns and the dusks,
Traversing diverse worlds and paths―

A storm chanced upon them:
Dark clouds and unruly winds,
Howling winds and the fury of thunder,
A blinding flash―and all darkness befell.
One bird loses his way from her,
The other flies hopelessly in search.

Ages past, one bird has settled
Upon a good tree―a good dwelling.
It is a calm place: a home-to-be,
And therein she made her peace.

But fate brings back the lost―
Broken legs, he can never rest now.
Momentarily, they sit together,
And renew their old songs,
Before one bird must fly again.

One has found a home;
The other has forsaken a home.
But like the returning seasons,
He promises to visit again―

And so they would sit, and in their songs
They would fly together freely once more.
Partaking of the joys and the griefs of love,
Traversing diverse worlds and paths―
Yet forever at the cross-roads―

For S. R.―
Bardhaman, amidst the ruin of 2017.