O' wanderer where do you search for home In light of fireflies do open you soul see the moonlight at your mind's attire. You're bemoaned for the wounds that roaming around your life even the sun moon and stars are mean to be get darken at the time of tides.
You longs for love but preach griefs, they're disguised In your gestures when the dark nights come and you find no-one you cry like a devastated mourner. O' your faraway gaze happened to amaze now a silence desire you plunge Into the memorial of memories to find the reasons of this Curse.
Translating a poetry from Its prime language Is hard for a wordsmith. All the emotions engraved In are near impossible to convey In another language. So here Is the probable English translation of my Bengali poetry. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Will you be my eve the silver moon over my skin an enchanted land so bewitched that forgets Its day, a wooden ship on the rusty river waves, If you be a kingfisher or cuckoo then take my mind away.
Will you be my hill a green draped alive locality a saffron spring so clear that mirrors the glaucous canopy. Will you be my iris, drizzles of the dark clouds a fairy princess who rides horse being so damn angry.
Will you be my first my perfect companion In canvas a fiddle of murmuring bees at the horizon of springs. Will you be my Astami's morning when you'll come for the prayer wearing a saree, I think you'll look good In a crimson red-edege yellow one.
Will you be my last at the heart's altar ease even In a stormy dark night when the big trees fell. Will you be my Uma the only Queen of Kailasha, will you melt my zillion years of grief and Love me the Fullest.
Flown by the Lord through the things unknown In a ravine abyss of fairy tale, alone by the paths of celestial bodies pulled the string till the heaven or hell. This can't be real, may be a dream, my body was so light and my clothes all damp surely I was drunk In my sleep, by the crossgates of church or the valleys so dead silence of the hearse where strangely fathom disgrage, frost so thick and mist milk-white fumes from the lake was alluring by the side;
A wooden bridge till the middle of lake a mermaid or two was lurking while rehearsing with crafts, hackles so bright and golden In sink silver chirps of rise were gleaming like a beam, may be her tail was legs or her legs were tail and In glee she asked, O' Shepard where are you heading hastily. ' The world knows me by the heraldry of shame but I'm only a life In shackle of seas and rain,' her lips were partly red, a freckle on top sharon of salt was flowing from the head and her breast left brown other zealed In hair and, ' how come the milky way so tattered In zest, stopped by the midway glowing for no interest, the moon is prime here living for the rest, do you know like how they glow during the day.'
I don't, I said. 'Ahh!' But I do know the day must be bright and night darker so that we can yearn for the stars-arise and the moon's shine. Look the moon Is preaching poesy here over the deck shimmering grasses are lunatic bewildered for the Waves to meet a star behind Is twinkling and dazzling by the tunes of pines, oh dear, crickets are so loud and fireflies have joined the fest. Do you know the forest God's wizardry wind! In a blink of an eye he can stop all these In a swing of his wand he can send me back. Lets meet again after a decade's travel when my desert will turn into greens and our heart will be old And....
At your retuning some Immortal stars dazzled over the mountain In eastern sky, waked the sleeping child and craddled her sailed to your homeland. Where the living lush shakes off her trembling grass and the wild rhododendron falls like musky snowflakes, where Is no cruel lord no woven web of bloody heraldry but the little homestays for roving comrades. There praise warm dales for Its tired men with half open book and many winding walk and the rustic lovers there stray at eve In happy simple talk.
O' the lily of Love, pure and white cantitude of your Eyes perfectly lined In black why should I lie even If I die, at the brink of your charismatic eye I fell. The tangle of the forest the silence of the woods and a red moon drifts across your cranium brow and sea washed lips hard to cease, petrify my dauntless Gemini chase, how wiltly you drap green sarees to wave Its crimson edge east. O' the passionate my heart still lies, the melancholia sings me on a moonlight tryst, capricious of thy sea let me sink, for I a hiraeth who loves Thee. (so tell me, where to go for a date Paris Mars Jupiter or over the mountain rafts.)
Where hast thou been O' Confidant(e) which enchanted land has named thy fame of glory the God whom you know so well may quite thine all raven memory, the crash of broken fears, the fierce gleam, from the shivering helm to fearless battle-cry we humans, close-caught In spider-net of fate O' from where you do sync the hope even In deaths.
To fill my poesy with thy praise, so I bow before thy entire race, I bow and broken on life's terrible wheel when I've lost all hopes and heart to sing yet I care not what the ruined times may bring If In thy courage temple thou wilt let me kneel.
Lend me thy velour fill me with hopes for I've lost the alives even before they were gone, blue white saffron, green drap my dead soul In your olive attire or navy seal, my ghost Is frozen cold enough than snow O' torch up thy aspiring command let me heal. O' I've lost the alives and for them I moan teach me to love life and those who loves me More.
Floatsam O' thee craddle crib tainted thou long sail over the mazarine clement sea, O' how thee forbid thou kinswoman to ease tulips shade their scents along thy alpine tree. Where the rubab's string sings cusp poetry spring O' where thou ghalib has lost far beyond In attan eve, thy streets are red mihrab and minbar frightened where thou sheaves of wheat around the mosque and hijri year underneath, alas! the erstwhile doctrines you sell over thou cold war skin.
O' thee ruthless king how thy (P/p)rime rests In peace why the azans even ring far bounded through his curshed shrine rifts; Children cry by the null mortarshell their mother had died father Is missing and their brother on neva returning runaway, their eldest sister has been lashed In back midst of the men, the parting tears In eyes and dusty breads on her wounded hand.
O' thee fires stay a little while on the cimmerian gale thou cuss may fell upon the tyrant- over the Kafir's head. You thee forasmuch ruler how dare you snatch the prophecy away of my friends, do lease my mighty words, cease the warlords suppress them. O' free thy cyclopian vehemence cyclophosphamide metaphors, rescue thy burnt sorcerer's eminence. O' thee my beloved land thy broods are In paradoxial pain, they flee to live they live In presence of your Grief, they die on your lap. O' why thou roads are red mihrab and minbar frightened where thou soothing sheaves of wheat around thy capracious Land.
I seek no grace untouched by blood, Lover Is my winter my holy fire In middle of the cold night. Her words, ring sweet as a chime of gold her words a poetry to my naked soul. She Is the girl of my dream whose words to me all victorian poetry. Her fair skin bright as Nazi lampshade hazel eyes deep and bright as the lunar arcade.
I dreamed her In a traditional attire In a blue Dangri was preaching an ancient dialect to cure the God In me, her hair divided In two clips crimson lip-paint and round ear-rings.
She promised me that she'll come back to me with strong hype sewed with the sea. But she comes not, may be she Is attained by someone better than me. Well, she Is my Lover the girl of my dream and I'm In love with her the way she whispers In my sleep, she Is my Lover the girl of my dream and I don't know how to ask her to be my forever Love Poetry.
Two roads diversed In a yellow wood the Jigsaw of unparalleled heaven, Oh God which one to choose. One took away the daisies along and other thought to wait for a day, nemesis of pristine words emphasised In raven cliche witchcrafts or wizardry or even cast my soul away alter my petrified eyes buoyant beyond the faraway. Cease a little while, O' Wind! O' The serpentine stream, be thou silent a while let my cry be heard over the topsy-turvy of paths, beyond the naked heaths let my runaway wanderer hear me.
Draped In my grief till the morning for a week and took the right way, for a second I forgot how to walk and could not feel at my heart left; where the pale tamarisk O' God fall like fork over the pale sanguine skin please tell me, where a deceased Lover can go by forgetting all memories. The daffodils laugh half, white tulip mocks me the gulmohors turn their red away when I sing them melancholy.
What he could be but he had chosen to be the Poet to find her In poetry, they laughed In glee at all his Jokes, for many a Joke had he the Love he bore to learn was In fault, In the dark he preached poesy. Such were the sounds over his wounded pride robbed In the sable garb of woe stucked In deep sorrows of lies sighs In awful voice beneath, mark the year and mark the night when the hacksaw ridge dwelled like a forlorned bravery. O' stay wild my moonchild, take the path of your own sorrows, pain, Love again to regain, laugh and Joy let be your confetti. Two roads diversed In a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel Both.
It's Just random thoughts, trying to convince my "dark side" to get on right track ☺️ trying to drag myself from wrong to right ✨ feel free to relate ☺️ there's always a hidden devil in everyone ⚠️ Just kill that and burry into hidden place and be pure☺️ live pure!! #peace #MrMysteryWords
/(Bard)iche virtuoso/ I was a poet: trahison des clercs
I never counted stars as they burn the house of dusk manipulating the daydreams to fell in love with ephialtes I'm a drunkard cursing the flashbacks and photographs of augur. I'm depicting the future with threads of past time I'm a bardic barque whose debris are being stepped by mariners as flotsam unable to fathom; a prolix to rejig the spaces and bardiches into poems which are hard to gulp and not-that-easy to cognize the roads I build with black and white images They left They left one by one two to four and in thirty days where I tasted the three sixty fifth rotten flesh of forevers
Nobody stayed the home to my soul the love of my life the salted-buttery elflocks of my grandma the last wish I made while celebrating my 11th birthday the guy who keeked through the orifice of fornication the bullets of prophecies the matinee to masquerade happiness
howbeit, I was a poet
who is a poet ?
one day my heart asked I was discombobulated I read books, watched movies I kept being inquisitive But steadily instead of getting an answer
I started a war betwixt my heart and mind,
A virtuoso bard , bardiche and bandit named life snuff the cigars of chivalry and puff out the intumescent verses of ruination
I'm partaking in sighs, cries, thwacks, flames, relics and coal-camphor of the pits of villainy
_ I'm not guilty of the trahison des clercs I caged, by trading my poetic pale-flower. I'm a cobblestone of perfidy.
* Black tea in our village is consumed with jaggery rather than sugar
* Panta bhaat or Poita bhaat is a meal of cooked rice soaked and fermented in water. Generally leftover, in water overnight. Traditionally served in the morning with salt, onion, chili and mashed potatoes or "Alu Bharta
*Harvest festival here - Bihu
*kotkora - kotkora is a thorny plant bearing fruits. there's a reknown history linked with this tree. Ahom princess Jaymati was tortured while being tied to this tree for 14 days for refusing to betray her husband Gadapani by disclosing his whereabouts.
Blah. Idk what this nasha is . Something new I tried . #end
As I have seen many of you didn't got the actual point in this post pardon my negligence let me elaborate it
The first verse is about wine how it touches the throat what we feel even the colada feels a piece of trash in front of it till we puke it out in dustbins and it burn into areas surrounded with blood death and hearses . (The taste of wine is like the wet sand after rain)
Second verse states that: I have talked about few girls as periwinkles its like wine sex and love or pain. So yeah, they walked in a ballroom trying to look as elegant as this is what erupts their synchondrosis joint. Like a categorized clichè girl. Fueling their dresses with bra cups, underarms and hips all ready and cleaned up and at that time the pimples when start pirouetting on their skin many stares which are eerie make them loose the last gum of their mouth as they bump with any man and he use her on his dashboard cupboard and then she again bloom in mudpots but the end is always pain and pain. (It means the suburbs and (bra) cups are carved with foolish people's gaze)
Last verse is about the themeparks the childhood we have lived and with time we killed it with our own desires its all cold now unfathomable and bizarre life filled with bewildered gossamers and confusions . (I gulped in love to feel the pain) Hope this helps :)