Rone de...

"‎Rone de aaj humko
Do aankhe sujane de!
Bahon mein ley ley
Aur khud ko bhig jane de
Hai jo sine mein kayed dariyaan
Woh choot jaiga
Hai itna dard
K tera daman bheeg jaiga...."

Past by Pablo Neruda

We have to discard the past
and, as one builds
floor by floor, window by window,
and the building rises,
so do we go on throwing down
first, broken tiles,
then pompous doors,
until out of the past
dust rises
as if to crash
against the floor,
smoke rises
as if to catch fire,
and each new day
it gleams
like an empty
plate.
There is nothing, there is always nothing.
It has to be filled
with a new, fruitful
space,
then downward
tumbles yesterday
as in a well
falls yesterday's water,
into the cistern
of all still without voice or fire.
It is difficult to teach bones
to disappear,
to teach eyes
to close
but
we do it
unrealizing.
It was all alive,
alive, alive, alive
like a scarlet fish
but time
passed over its dark cloth
and the flash of the fish
drowned and disappeared.
Water water water
the past goes on falling
still a tangle
of bones
and of roots;
it has been, it has been, and now
memories mean nothing.
Now the heavy eyelid
covers the light of the eye
and what was once living
now no longer lives;
what we were, we are not.
And with words, although the letters
still have transparency and sound,
they change, and the mouth changes;
the same mouth is now another mouth;
they change, lips, skin, circulation;
another being has occupied our skeleton;
what once was in us now is not.
It has gone, but if the call, we reply;
"I am here," knowing we are not,
that what once was, was and is lost,
is lost in the past, and now will not return.

22 se Srabon

Jekhane shurur kotha bolar aagei sesh
sekhane mukh dubiye khujte chawa amar e ovyesh
jekhane rod palano bikel belar ghran
sekhane chutbo bhavi gilbo golpo bhul hobe banan

ei bujhi foskalo haath ar kalo raat kore shomoy gelo ayojone
prottek din bhoy pawa shob ichhe gulo onek jhorer shobdo shone

ekbar bol nei tor keu nei, keu nei, keu nei
ekbar bol nei tor keu nei, keu nei, keu nei
ekbar bol nei tor keu nei, tor keu nei...

jebhave drishyo onek gilche amay roj
sebhavei aaral pele bhangchi ami hochhi je nikhoj
jekhane daak pathale mrito deher bhire
sekhanei tulchi chobi tolchi neshay aaschi abar fire

ei bujhi foskalo haath ar kalo raat kore shomoy gelo ayojone
prottek din bhoy pawa shob ichhe gulo onek jhorer shobdo shone

aaj sesh mesh nei tor keu nei, keu nei, keu nei
aaj sesh mesh nei tor keu nei, keu nei, keu nei
aaj sesh mesh nei tor keu nei, keu nei, keu nei

ekbar bol nei tor keu nei, tor keu nei...eh hey
tor keu nei...oh hooo
tor keu nei...aa haaa

Ghor! ~ Mondakranta Sen

Ghor bolte chayay ghera bari

Duuar khule uthone pa pore

Ghor bolte firbo taratari

Ghor bolte tomay mone pore

Ghor bolte math’er pore math

Aal’er dhare rod meleche paa

Deeghee’r kol’e bhanga shaan’er ghat

Bhaat reNdhechi, naite jabe na?

Ghor bolte sondhye neme ele

Pidim jwele bosbo pashapashi

Nijhum para, 8’ta beje gele

Durer theke shunbo rail’er baNsi

Ghor bolte somosto raat dhore

Ghumer thekeo nibir bhalobasa

Ghor bolte tomar du-chokh bhore

Sopno gulo kuriye niye asa

Ghor bolte esob khutinati

Ghor bolte akash theke bhumi

Ek dike poth, bisom haNtahaNti

Poth’er sesh’e, ghor bolte tumi!

My Grandmother's Love Letters - Hart Crane

There are no stars tonight

But those of memory.

Yet how much room for memory there is

 In the loose girdle of soft rain.

There is even room enough

For the letters of my mother’s mother, Elizabeth,

That have been pressed so long

Into a corner of the roof

That they are brown and soft,

And liable to melt as snow.

Over the greatness of such space

Steps must be gentle.

It is all hung by an invisible white hair.

It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.

 And I ask myself: “Are your fingers long enough to play

Old keys that are but echoes: Is the silence strong enough

To carry back the music to its source

And back to you again

As though to her?”

 Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand

Through much of what she would not understand;

 And so I stumble.

 And the rain continues on the roof

With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
 so many things seem filled with the intent
 to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

 Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
 of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
 The art of losing isn't hard to master.

 Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
 places, and names, and where it was you meant
 to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.

 I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
 next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
 The art of losing isn't hard to master.

 I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
 some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
 I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

 ---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
 I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
 the art of losing's not too hard to master
 though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Love Autopsy...

Figuring out you and me is like doing a love autopsy

They can operate all day long and never find out what went wrong...

:-)

Okay...now this might sound a little weird. Crazy perhaps! But how about this being my wedding song? 

Live like you're Dying...

Take every moment, you know that you own them
It's all up to you to do whatever you choose
Live like you're dying and never stop trying
It's all you can do, use what's been given to you

this time let your mem'ries die

Here we are Talkin' bout forever

I'd love you all over again...

The longer we love
And the memories just keep adding up

And if I had it to do all over
I'd do it all over again
If tomorrow I found one more chance to begin
I'd love you all over again

I have it all

A stark naked light bulb hangs over my head
There's one lonely pillow on my double bed
I've got a ceiling, a floor and four walls
Who says you cant have it all

Marriage...

It's the little things you do together,
That make perfect relationships.
The hobbies you pursue together
Savings you accrue together,
Looks you misconstrue together,
That make marriage a joy.


It's the little things you share together,
Swear together,
Wear together,
That make perfect relationships.
The concerts you enjoy together,
Neighbors you annoy together,
Children you destroy together,
That keep marriage intact.


It's not so hard to be married
When two maneuver as one.
It's not so hard to be married,
And, Jesus Christ, is it fun!


It's sharing little winks together,
Drinks together,
Kinks together,
That make marriage a joy.
The bargains that you shop together,
Cigarettes you stop together,
Clothing that you swap together,
That make perfect relationships.




It's not talk of God and the decade ahead that
Allows you to get through the worst.
It's "I do" and "you don't" and "nobody said that"
And "who brought the subject up first?"
It's the little things,
The little things, the little things, the little things.


The little ways you try together,
Cry together,
Lie together,
That make perfect relationships.
Becoming a cliche together,
Growing old and grey together,
Withering away together,
That make marriage a joy.


It's the people that you hate together,
Bait together,
Date together,
That make marriage a joy.
It's things like using force together,
Shouting till you're hoarse together,
Getting a divorce together,
That make perfect relationships.

FB picks!

“Every girl has that one guy she goes back to,
heartbreak after heartbreak and nobody knows why, not even her.
And she just can't let go. ♥”

nijoswo chariye aaro kichu thake!

Advice to a Girl / Sara Teasdale

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek,
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

Episode by Zbigniew Herbert

We walk by the sea-shore
holding firmly in our hands
the two ends of an antique dialogue
—do you love me?
—I love you


with furrowed eyebrows
I summarize all wisdom
of the two testaments
astrologers prophets
philosophers of the gardens
and cloistered philosophers


and it sounds about like this:
—don’t cry
—be brave
—look how everybody


you pout your lips and say
—you should be a clergyman
and fed up you walk off
nobody loves moralists


    what should I say on the shore of
    a small dead sea


    slowly the water fills
    the shapes of feet which have vanished

I know this won't last forever...

Can you imagine how I'll miss
Your touch and your kiss?

She's me...

She's anything but typical
She's so unpredictable
Oh but even at her worst she ain't that bad
She's as real as real can be
And she's every fantasy
Lord she's every lover that I've ever had
And she's every lover that I've never had