Bangla Poetry in English

 I Am No Stranger Ahsan Habib The stars in the sky are my witnesses, too are the flowers of this land, the midnight bamboo groves, the endless glow of fireflies witnesses- the Jarul and the Jamrul stand witness, the eastern pond, shaded by its tangled fig branches watches me. The kingfisher knows me well. I am no newcomer here, By God, I am no unknown traveler. I am no stranger. I am no stranger, for I have always been here. By the rhythm of dreams, I remain here still. And to stay here is to belong everywhere- throughout this land. I am no stranger. The scorching sun, watery winds, the weary clouds of the afternoon, the restless birds- they all know me. They know I am no outsider. The sheaves of rice in Kartik bear witness, Like the trembling dewdrops on the chiroli leaves, So does the shadow of Nishinda draped in a quilt of moonlight. Even Kodom Ali, bent with untimely age, withvfatigue darkness in tired eyes- I know him, I am none but of his own. I know Jomila’s mother’s kitchen...

  THE ARTIST after Jayati Das---in the shadow of Ramkinkar Baij O Sky— let me seize you in the curve of trembling fingers, in the fists of earth-stained hands. Let me sculpt your vastness in clay. Bird—won’t you flutter away? Lift that supple neck— how warm, how tender the ribs beneath! Let my gaze drift to Egypt, to Tibet— for you—breathing forest. And as your bark peels away, a seabird laughs in flight— a grace no touch could hold. Come, sit before the fire— before the storm's hunger  tearing all apart— to scattered ash. You think me mad! Don’t ask its cast. Let the whole body ignite in creation. Why cleanse it, beloved? Drink the river—like a deer at peace, while the hunter’s light gleams in these nails, these eyes. Within your depths, I dissolved to carve the unshaped into form. Did you hear the wail— was it a tiger’s cry? Which mountain now veils your vanishing face? Come, let me touch— you, luminous stone, star of ineffable beauty. I offer the heart's full blossom, ...

  Daily Degradation — Suman Biswas In the tranquil breeze now sleeps the holy Serpent— merging with the world, it pours its poison into the air. Power swells like a rising flood. The bandit's Jagadish   tills  the soil with hate; the sages drift into oblivion, dreams shattered in vain. And thus, Rangpur has  turned into Raurava — all around, the pride of harmony  falls apart day by day. NB : This poem is written in Bangla maintaining the metrical genre called ' matrabitto chondo' This translation is in prose genre---interestingly we are all genre-fluid. Poet;s Bio : Shubhendu Bhushan Biswas ( Suman Biswas ) was born in Jashore in 1987. He is a prolific writer writing in Bangla. He has been writing metrical poems from early age, and can be called ' a poet of prosody' belonging to the 'Pandulipi Group'. He published his first poem collection " Projanmer Padda" in 2024, and contributed poems to  " Pandulipi'r Kabita Sangkolon" 1 (2021), ...

  Peace Messenger  Suman Debnath You speak of peace,  yet in your retina— oil-paintings of  weapons of war.   You speak of equality, but I hear the marching boots of the Gestapo.   You speak of progress, your crooked finger points with a sneer.   You speak of rain, but beneath your feet lies a desert of dust.   All that exists serves the naked cravings of your primal lust!   You are the messenger  of peace— your envoys,  armed to the teeth.   You are a gentle flame— yet your crown burns with thickening darkness.   You are a smitten lover— but your love laughs in molten lava.   You are heaven’s child— yet your heaven blazes on hell’s pyre.   And in the hallowed halls of your enlightened peace— Amaravati weeps.   (25 July 2025) Poet's Bio : Suman Debnath was born in Kishoreganj in 1983. He writes poems from early age , and be...

The Concrete-Milestone ( পাথরের মাইলস্টোন  ) Sadequr Rahman These broken roads and shattered homes, by the yard, the leaning pole of the forgotten vine-frame or the paddy husking machine, fallen and dead— all of it, then one day, somehow, gets fixed again. Then one day, in loud, lively cheer, the morning bazaar hums back to life, office streets buzz once more, the grocer’s shop swells with chatter, and the bellows of the blacksmith’s forge heave and groan even harder. Then one day, through tireless drills, war planes slice the sky with a whoosh and a roar— and on the asphalt highways vehicles thunder, endlessly, fearlessly, racing the day away. And then one day, like this— everything gets fixed again. Only the concrete Milestone by the road stands still, speechless, watching. 24.07.2025 Note: This poem was written in grief after the tragic plane crash at Milestone School, Diabari, Uttara, Dhaka, in which many children were killed or injured on July 21, 2025.       ...

The Nose Ring Al Mahmud My mother’s golden nose ring was lost, I searched here and there across all Bangladesh. I went to the river and asked, is it with you? Don’t touch, my body filled with silver boal fish- river replied. At the bend of Harinber, Titas River cries, Where white herons shed feathers and flies. Leaving water I wandered into the forest, Where green parrots sparkled like emeralds. I pleaded to the forest, return it to me brother! I want to go home with my mother’s jewelry. Forest sighed, how can we find your mother’s lost treasure? We are just birds and ordinary wild creatures.  I went to the hill, expanding it's chest- it said, I wear flowers in green hair, not nose rings, But if you want the scent of blossoms, Take it, stretch out your hands. A thousand deer hid their faces amid the leaves. Downing dark tresses, then came the long-haired night, and I started marching, Without my mother’s jewelry, I'm not returning.  Poet's Photo:  Poet's Bio:  Al Mah...