Badruzzaman Alamgir
[ Badruzzaman Alamgir, poet, playwright and Translator was born in lowland area Bajitpur, Kishoregonj, Bangladesh. He studied from grade school to college in Bajitpur, Kishoregonj, and then Dhaka University. He has been in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania for 27 years, United States Of America.
Books:
Poetry : Pichutane Toltolayoman Haowagulir vitor: Staggering Nostalgia along the Flow of Winds.
Play: Nononpurer Melay Ekjon Komola Sundoree O ekoti bagh aashe: A tiger and Beautiful Komola Come to the fair Of Nononpur.
Play: Aber Pangkha Loiya : Breeze of Cloud.
Parable: Hridpeyarar Shubash : Fragrance of Infinity.
Poetry: Nodio pash fere jodiba Hongsee Bolo: River turns around since you call her a Goose. Translated poems : Dheugulo jomoj bon: Twin Sister Waves.
Poetry: Durotwer Sufiyana: Sufiyana Within Distance.
Memoiric Prose : Shonge praner khela : Colours of heart down within. ]
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Giraffe
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Giraffe is a strange absorbing tense
It’s not past, present or future time frame
Definitely it’s something else different game
Time, native intelligence can not catch it up.
As soon as we look towards its indifference
We right away get the impression
Girrafe is not a creature exists now
Either it had been, or would be a being.
Giraffe is peace, innocuous but never homie
It never does harms, so not ever ally too.
Giraffe on on account go through a mess
It does not know what does dust smell like
they sleep average only fifteen minutes a day.
They are around us but not our neighbour
Eventually I perceived the solo colour truth
Giraffe is what we have been looking for
years after years in the realm of our thirst.
Every giraffe is a sufi- Shams Tabrez, Rumi,
Aquinas say we know clearly things gloomy.
..,…………
Inside the fondness
……………
What if I did not have any working hands
Instead of them if I have only rusty sands!
What if I did not have eye vision at all.
Think people do not die they are immortal
I can not think that scenario for a second.
How boring it could be, how tedious it be!
we owe to mortality as human generation
How light a living life appears as though
a plastic ballon flies in air keenly low-priced
But the same cheap ballon arise so heavy
When someone dies, becomes rocky stillness.
They do not take your tears, neither smiles
How supreme brush-off the dead becomes
Rigidity grows inside the fondness of entity.
It accumulates bit by bit through rejection
illusions play a large game in this courtyard.
At length we come to see a mirror and grain
We stand in rain to esteem memory and pain.
………….
Footsteps on raindrop
………….
This is a kind of evening I am talking about
silence blows blue voices light and leafs
Like a lonely bookmark in-between
strokes of memory along with fiery griefs.
Pardon, don’t tell me soft words today
Let me cry, let me fall apart in pieces
As it happens all it matters to me now
Melt my shape into forgetting traces.
This is what I achieved all deep-dyed
My son grew up as my dad a banyan tree
Me turnig to his little child with solitay eyes
Rubbing face in sands underneath the sea.
Don’t stop me weep this intense evening
Wholeness achieves through incessant splits
Cold blowed rail road burns my heart
Gloomy eyes are treasure where sigh meets.
I will pick up raindrops and stoning tree
Don’t let me forget footsteps, let me be.
………..
Silence
……….
Silence is never silent never a quietness,
It’s always an arrow towards a blunt gaze.
Silence is a Himalaya of unspoken words
Hisory of prehistory consolidates in nerds.
Conversation’s froth dilemma brings foams
Dust fatigue in bird’s wings heading homes.
Punditry splits to pieces in bookmark notes
Power smashes fear happily floats on boats.
Silence is unhappiness coagulates in stones
Consolidate time, sphere and untold moans.
Every human is mute of God and lonely star
Silence comes from a bruised flower by far.
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Two way drive
………….
Michael Jackson was looking for his early years
through his entire shiny towery life prominence
’cause he never had his boyhood days in him.
He has had fame but never had the childhood
The all I had all the way through hard knock life
Me through out my entire life try to get rid of it.
From two differnt angles two differen Himalayas
Humans are neck and crop obstinate seekers
Someone are aiming to snatch procure stardoms
That’s all it matters as long as infront it glitters.
The one who has fame wealth dignity and kudos
Is one kind one philosophy one generosity rolls
On the other hand whoever on side of have nots
Is opposite kind, philosophy, intense and path.
Michael Jackson did not have his childhood
So he had a camouflage, make up on his face,
He never took them off for even one tiny day
The folk like me had no glitters make up at all
We were overwhelmed in odor with toys small.
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