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RATNADIPA.

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 8/10/2014 |
I WANT TO BECOME GOD AND OTHER POEMS


INDEPENDENCE
Rivulets cross  paddy fields...   vacancy of vermilion  in thy forehead...  the evergreen  moon &  the squirrel....  Fish girl hugging a lighthouse......
Strange wild horses  spreading  gallops & posters....  In the evening of Iftaar, do come here....
Come here  when God is in His worst of times....  Oh! long living ballader, come in the horseroastpyre , Sanctuaries wiping off illness of butterflies.....
Come thru the brushes of  unploughed  cultivations... thru the holikas of fug &  long march... thru crusades, Bible & the barricades, &  batteries of words of Renaissance.....
Come in a literary seminar... in workshop  on poetry favoring an electoral  campaign.  Oh ! poet, come forth crushing the march-past of th bullets & the ballots.
See, --  Moon flying high the flag in reddish Sun....  Cartridge rain cannon washing  hands in tulsi lamp n Nadia Jaman .  See, the wings of thousands of laughter manifesting in millions  of bullets & billets...  and we, black  horses of Maheen, shall play sarod thru the bayonets...
Someday,  overcoming slogans in flames , all our hearts  shall branch out in 21  gunpowder.....
Someday,  world's  all the dynamos  shall turn around, and all humans----
 shall be named  "INDEPENDENCE" 




 PROHIBIT  DEATH
I think so.  And as I open my eyes, and unzip the xylem, an unbelievable prayer hovers.. over the St Paul's  Cathedral, --- candles  light up  the holy altar...  Like a holy altar...  Like a proud  SAP abapper  , ...or a software professional ... death comes  running---- in search  of very  precious perks....... incomplete  I ... no praise to my two hands, ... get a crash....more crash under the heels  of the Church.
Too many permutations with chromosomes,..--- makes &  breaks , ruptures  &  incarnations---- Oh!  Christ the great soul, hasn't  thou  cughed up  ur  nectar glass?  Yet?  ...  The ceiling of the earth & the rooftop... piercing in the cloudburst of iron,.. &  steel... and I, one dead face on another .... writing the history  of TB  sheets in a suit case. Listen Jesus,  hear me, I am  calling from the inside of a prison... voicing from the larynx & pharynx of grasses....  you bring in a corrigendum bill...  an amendment for the humanity.... 
Don't be late, Jesus, do ot....  Prohibit death from tonight.




 I WANT TO BECOME GOD
Last evening I went to temple...  ---the moonlight brightening a seven monk lamp &  the moonstone......   conch sounds piercing the dusky horizon.....  Jhanvi music moving in & out of  my heart into sacredness.....
God was addicted  still... ---to the melody of Bitophen...  By then have I  sunk... swimming...  searching &  taking out the crust n trough of humanity----at the end of incessant pain,  so unbearable.....Inevitable was  that Eureka--- Kalpataru  salvation after years of quest....
God wakes up in the hymns of music,... serene melody---  Pacific's  wave less waves  in both of His eyes,.... His lips  abound in smileys  of childhood &  innocence  of laughter...  He asked  me, "  What do u want?  The melody of the dearest bird...  the whispers  &  invites of the sky .... or the comedy of a rivulet?  "  I  can't decide what  to want, what  I  should .....
Before the eyes  of God , slowly I  find the slew of disappearing men....  shadows of men & women ...  At  the feet  of  the immortal  hermit , I  offer  my momentary prayer...  like swears  piercing another  age  full  of  intoxicative affinity....
I kneel down  before Him .... in prayer .... like tempest  come out words from my core,  --my  ultimate wish,...
 I want to become God.


[TRANSLATED FROM ORIGINAL BANGLA BY ANINDO GHOSH]








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