Talk to me with all you have,
all you have as a soul or memory.
Coat your tongue with every bit of bitterness you possess,
then slip it in front of me.
Let me see you, all of you.
Mirror me as I go up and down with nonchalance,
with arrogance, with fear, with rage,
and purely with you.
More and more broken desires,
solely stolen dreams from your chilhood cradle,
overcrowded paths of familiar faces and unknown hearts.
I want them all, slowly, like dribbling tears.
Beneath this grey sky let's paint more memories.
In pastel or oil colour or with charcoal dust.
Let's make it raw, like life.
No fine details or delicacy
only crappy haphazards, with crisp brown diaries,
pages of worn out stories, of us.
— % &

-

The fire Inside me
flames a little more every morning
and I choose not to die out of sadness.
It burns my ribs
and turns my blood into thick black tar
when the night touches me again, like death.
The same blaze that evokes my being
to stay just one more day,
curses unholy chants like some paralytic demon in darkness,
crawling into me.

They say it's all inside my head,
a head, full of polaroids,
songs coming from broken record,
murky sky and homelessness.
Sky high dreams crumble down my feet,
but tottering hands grab only ashes
of buried memories and weary feathers.
I'm dying everyday with nothing but despair,
losing my sanity in my own babble
that whispers my run-away stories to me
and tells, I'm stuck inside the hell of me.— % &

-

You can't kill a person
just by shoving a knife in their chest
or slitting their throats in two,
or simply putting them on fire.
You don't know them well enough
to make them believe,
you have that sharpness in you.
Have you ever seen their ripped off skins,
charcoal stained palms,
dirty wonky wooden table,
or smudged inkbooks inside a paper bag?
Do you believe them
to be alive enough for your kill
over their shady stale luck?
Their eyes will tell you
how disturbed of a soul they are,
and with such a great passion
they just want to ebb away quietly.

-

Long enough after you are gone
I'll still be here,
waiting
at the bank of the lake we walked past by
on our old golden days of felicity.
I'll count on your promises
and wait for you here
until the sun sinks back into the liquid horizon.
I'll die a little everyday, like yesterday.

Many more dreams I'll see
without you in my eyes
and the void will remain undecayed,
to remind me of your touches I've lost.
Once again my gazeless eyes will watch nothing but haze from twilight to dusk.
I'll bury my face in my palms
and cry until your memories wash away.

And I'll die a little there everyday, like yesterday.

-

Silence doesn't scare me anymore
only sounds and words do,
I barely go out crossing the door
because I see them in you.

Like this miserable rotten mankind
I always feel the cold,
it's nowhere else but in hell to find
the willingness I have sold.

-

We wait ages in silence, in misgivings
from day to night and back night to day
just to get a glance of what we've became from what.
The warm taste of sunshine on the skin,
honey brown eyes and dusty freckles on the comely face,
sound of crunchy leaves under the naked feet,
a bucket full of birthday wishes and favourite songs,
a dip into the caramel or a mouthful of fresh cream,
doesn't overwhelm us anymore, in any way.
Life feels long, tedious & unforgiving to us
as it revolves around ourselves in a dreary manner of
breathing, breathing and only breathing.
We choke on our own thoughts of living in between
two slits of nullity that holds nothing but fear,
fear of ugly lies and ghosts of our old good days
that shows our distorted life when we hold up the mirror,
and we silently scream inside out head and cry for death
before the undeniable vacuity finally reaches us.

-

T r e e s
looking like their silhouettes,
as the winter haze is slowly engulfing the entire wood.
Varieties of green are turning into shades of black,
like changing faces of some decaying man.
The peace this wood holds within like its soul,
screams loneliness from the greyed away leaves.

P a t h s
covered in twigs and dry leaves
doesn't hold your reminiscence,
did you ever walk on them ?
Did you bury our memories
underneath this damp soil,
as our footprints smudged away
with remorseless time ?
My eyes mirror this melancholia
with great resemblance,
as it watch your love drift
farther and farther away.

-

খুব বৃষ্টি হয় এখানে
সারাদিন, সারারাত, নিরন্তর
ধূসর মেঘ আকাশটাকে ঢেকে রাখে নরম মখমলের মত চাদরে।
জল পরে নিঃশব্দে, ভেজা বাতাসের গা বেয়ে
কখনও ভালবাসার মত
কখনো বা মুখগোঁজা কান্নার মত।

এখানে ঝড় ওঠেনা, মেঘ কথা বলেনা
কেবল শান্ত ছন্দে জল ঝরে।
কখনও আবার দিনের শেষের লাল সূর্যটা
রাঙা চোখে তাকিয়ে থাকে দূরের নদীটার দিকে,
আমার রোদমাখা সোনালী দিনগুলো
এখন কেবল ভিজতে থাকে বৃষ্টিতে।

ঝুপ করে সন্ধ্যা নামে রোজই
শুনতে পাইনা দিন ফুরোবার খবর,
মনখারাপ করা একটা ভালোলাগা, নরম সুরে গান গায়
ফেলে আসা ঘর, গলি, পাড়া বা ইস্কুলটার মত।
মা-বাবার গলা শুনতে পাই বুকের মাঝে প্রতিধ্বনির মত,
তারা ফেরি করে বেড়ায় আমার হারিয়ে যাওয়া ছেলেবেলার গল্পগুলো। — % &

-

My soul won't rest unless my tiny garden bloom again
like beautiful eyes with crimson, mauve or honey hue,
cease the stories I left unfinished and lines unwritten,
fill the pages that never held words & ink dried in the quill.

I won't sleep unless I depart for the nameless country roads
and run around the mustard field against the morning sun,
or dance alone under the million stars & northern lights,
& inhale the overwhelming untouched silence of the forest.

-

I crave for some star-fall
and a hundred moonlit nights,
with neither another soul
nor my own shadow around,
as I want to give it some ease
for it has been watching me,
doing all my sins very closely
from the emergence of me.

Like olden woods in the forest
I'm worn out for long now,
and the way my shady silhouette
dodders in weariness,
I want my flesh and bones
to coalesces into the dust,
for at least a thousand years
to have my awaiting abeyance.

-