Thursday, June 30, 2016



We say, “This is a country free.”
And yet, I’m sure, to a high degree,
That almost everyone I see
Is an “owner” or an employee.

And though some might be both, we know
Our minds are set where income’s more.
And each of us, in verbiage, thought
And action, are, in mindsets, caught.

For every “owner”, you will find
A thousand of the other kind—
The ones who work, with hand or mind,
For bosses—gracious or unkind.

And which of these, I ask, is free?
And what’s the measure or degree
Of freedom that could ever be
The portion of an employee?

And even he, the boss of bosses,
With minions counting gains and losses,
Must carry too his gilded crosses.
Upon his bed, he turns and tosses.

So when we say that freedom shines
And show contempt for one who whines,
Remember—freedom isn’t guns
Or bombs that make a thousand suns.

Freedom is the lack of debt
And not being caught within the net.
You’ll find your freedom—this, I warrant,
When poised to be, where bosses aren’t.

Kayapos dancing, with shorts and sandals on, Brazilian Amazon, by Thomas L. Kelly
But even if you struggle free,
By climbing up the power-tree
Or breaking loose, what happens then
To all, who still are captive men?

A captive woman too must dance
As much in Yemen as in France.
And now, despite the "women's lib",
For women, freedom's still a fib.
Some dream that freedom will arrive
On owning Benzes they can drive.
And others aim yet higher, while
They wreak their damage, mile on mile.

There can’t be freedom, when the banks
Get richer, while the men in ranks
Are marching, so that profits flow
To those, who’re wanting even more.
There can’t be freedom, when there’s war
That issues from the place you are—
Or comes, like dread disease, to visit,
Bringing woe and horror with it.

When corporations give the orders,
As humans still are penned by borders,
While money speeds like light, with ease,
Then serfdoms grow and freedoms cease.

So women in the past have marched—
And others, who had long been parched—
To drink of freedom’s heady draft.
And yet, they’re snared by Mammon’s craft.
So sons of slaves might wonder why
They still must work, until they die,
At jobs they’d rather leave, but can’t,
While hearing still that jive, that rant.

The daughter of a worker slaves
And pinches pennies, scrapes and saves,
But still, with earnings low, may find
A world that hardly rates as kind.

“We’re free!” the politician blares,
And yet our heads are filled with cares.
We’re free, in certain states, to buy
Our guns—but not to question why.

We see that science, much maligned,
Has been, by engineers, aligned
To suit the needs of plebes and those

Who buy, at Bloomingdale’s, their hose.

And so, we’re free to buy the stuff
That’s made by workers treated rough
In distant places, and we’re free
To claw to climb the hierarchy.

And science and tech have brought us things
Like ‘planes that speed on windswept wings
And ‘phones that each of us can carry
And bounties for the military.
We’re free: to use, instead of rocks,
Our fiery bombs, with thunderous shocks;
To burn alive, our fellow species;
To strew the planet with our feces!

If this indeed is freedom, why,
Do give me freedom, then, to die.
If freedom truly comes, then whisper,
“That dummy missed it by a whisker.”

But if, as likely, it remains
As distant, query, "Who then gains,
When workers, working ever faster,
Speed the race towards disaster?"

“Produce, produce!” the teachers teach.
“Consume, consume!” the pundits preach.
Who then has time to think, reflect?
To Mammon’s priests, we genuflect.
“Free-dumb! Free-dumb!”  Hear that shout
And ask yourself, what it’s about.
Can ignorance let freedom be
What it should mean to you and me?
2016 June 25th, Sat. & June 30th, Thu.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

Sunday, June 26, 2016

The Bird is Never in the Nest

Note: The initial post has been lightly edited and some stanzas have been added. The total number of stanzas now stands at nine.

Despite the apparent frivolity of the couplet rhymes, this is meant to be a serious piece.

For most of us, this should take several re-readings to sink in. Of course, this is so for for most poems.

The statements made  should neither be dismissed nor accepted without further thought, nor should the questions raised be considered to be merely rhetorical. They are worth due consideration.

That said, neither the validity of some of the statements nor the answers to some of the questions might be determinable in a lifetime. These have been debated for thousands of years without resolution.

Indeed, words will never suffice in these matters, except as pointers.


Orjun (Babui)
অর্জুন (বাবুই)
अर्जुन / ارجن
The Bird is Never in the Nest

That self, that goes by “you” and “me”,
We’re told, by seers, is fantasy.
And that “immortal soul” within,
That often seems so mired in sin,
Is also, by the wise, dismissed
As less substantial than the mist.
Yet all of us might still agree
That mind is real—that wanders free
Without, within, with wondrous ease—
And yet, at death, appears to cease.

But where, in all your swarm of cells,
A trillion strong, is one that tells
Me where it is that you reside—
That place, in which that “soul” can hide—
Or “self”—or even where that mind
That thinks—and “heart” that’s loving, kind
Or “made of stone”—might chance to be.
And so it with “you” and “me”
And “him” and “her” and all the rest.
The bird is never in the nest!

Can matter be the roost of mind—
However hard it is to find?
We look at dusk, we look at dawn.
Perhaps it came—and now is gone?
We cannot find that “I” or “me”—
That thing, sans which we cease to be.
Yet surely mind exists—and so
We learn there’s much we’ve still to know.
Perhaps the mind is like the flame
That’s oil and air—yet not the same.

To cast its light, the lamp may need
The air and oil—yet is, indeed,
Not just the two.  So mind requires,
It seems, this body that respires—
And yet, like flame—and even air—
It isn’t “ours”.  It’s what “we” share—
This mind that lights both “you” and “me”,
And “him” and “her”—in which we see
And hear and feel and question why
We need these things like “you” and “I”.

Behold the storm—with all its clouds
And winds that hide the sun in shrouds
And all the rain that falls—and ask,
"Where lies its self?"  That starts a task
That will not yield an answer.  So
It is for “you” and “me”—but more.
There’s likely not a gram of earth
Or water, air, that gave me birth,
That I could still now claim as mine,
Nor erg that pulsed in newborn spine.   \1
And neither could you find a place
Where I begin and the rest displace.
There is no line or boundary
That could resolve this quandary.
So you and I are storm and wave.
No matter how we try to save
The things we might pretend are ours,
They all will be dispersed as showers.
You have no start or end in space
Or time, despite a name and face.

For tell me where the wave has end
Or start?  We each might still pretend
That each exists—that mind and soul
And body, self, are one and whole.
But like the storm and wave, we each
Are only parts. Upon a beach,
A wave may crash, and yet we see
Another, welling from the sea,
That is the same.  Like storms, we grow
And then we fade—as all is flow.
We're born and live awhile and die,
And rarely get to question why.
But some might say an entity,
That lives, has an identity.
The script that’s in our DNA
And the weave of what our elders say
Give each of us that function, form—
That version of the larger norm—
That memory that, like scriptures read,
Provides the long and linking thread.
So atoms, quanta come and go,               \2
As currents, through our bodies, flow,
That could be matter, could be light,
Yielding pleasure, pain, delight,
But information still persists              
And, all of entropy, resists.                      \3
And some declare—the self and soul
And even brightly burning coal
Are phantoms, while the mind is spirit,
With all the rest as dreams within it.
2016 June 26th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York 
Monua Janah: 1959-2004
Lamp animation: John Innis, 2005



I would like to thank my friend, Vivek, for some useful editorial suggestions. 
     -- Arjun

1.  An erg is a very small unit of energy, once much used by physicists. One erg is about 1/400,000 of a heat-calorie and so about 1/400,000,000 of a food-calorie (kilocalorie).

2.  Energy, like matter, has a granular structure.  A quantum is an extremely tiny natural "packet" or pulse of energy.  For electromagnetic radiation, the energy in a quantum is proportional to the frequency of the electromagnetic wave.  The energy in one quantum of green light is about 4 x 10^(-14) erg.

3.  The entropy of a system is a measure of its disorder, or of our lack of knowledge about it.  The word "information" in the previous line is used loosely, as in everyday speech, in the sense of "knowledge", not in the precise technical sense of "negentropy" of coding and communication theory, although these usages are connected.

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Baul Jibon—বাউল জীবন—A Minstrel's Life—एक बाउल की ज़िन्दगी—یک باؤل کی زندگی

So far, this post includes the original, in Bengali script, an English translation, an attempt at translation into Hindi--and a machine-translation of that attempt into Urdu.  The three translations are at the bottom of the post.

I have also included three images, a link to an earlier poem and links to information and videos about Bauls, including two recordings (with English subtitles) by Parvathy Baul.

The periods (full-stops) and some of the commas in the Urdu version are misplaced, owing to text-flow-direction difficulties. (Urdu uses a modified Arabic script, written from right to left.)

Any feedback, comments and corrections--especially to the Bengali, Hindi and Urdu--would be most welcome.

In the first line of the second stanza, I have changed the tense, in the Bengali and English versions, to the present, altering the English line from

"I never worked at jobs or farms."


"I do not work at jobs or farms."

Bauls appear to live mainly by singing and, as many Hindu, Buddhist and Jain monks do, by begging.  However, it seems likely that they will have also, at times in their lives, worked in other ways--for a living or to help their families of birth.

Nevertheless, I have left that line in a sort of past perfect tense ("I have not worked at...") in the Hindi and Urdu versions.

To see the images in a somewhat larger and clearer view, click on any one image. Then use the arrow keys on your keyboard or click on the thumbnails.  To return to this blog post, click on the white X near the top right of the black background.

বাউল জীবন

Baul Mohammad Islam Shah, on the Padma River, Bangladesh
photograph: Leonid Plotkin
ছেড়ে এলাম সবাইকে, গো,

ছেড়ে এলাম, ওরে৷
একতারাতে বাজনা বাজাই,
ঘুরে বেড়াই দূরে৷
করিনা গো চাষ, চাকরি,
করি নি গো বিয়ে৷
ভিক্ষে করি, শহর গাঁয়ে,
চিত্তের গান গেয়ে৷
মরন কালে গাইব আমি,
রূগ্ণ শ্বাসে, গান৷
একতারাটা থাকবে পড়ে,
চলবে পথে প্রাণ৷
মঙ্গলবার, ২১ জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

See also:

For Just a Penny or for Naught
Maula Pagol (Maula Baksh Shah)

The following are two video recordings of Baul songs, sung by Parvathy Baul (Mousumi Parial).The songs have English subtitles.

In the first song, note the blurring of the distinction between forbidden, amorous love and love for the divine, found in certain bhakti (devotional) songs of Vaishnavite Hinduism and also in other traditions, such as those of the Sufi poets of Islam and certain aspects of Christianity.

This is expressed, in this song, as the pining of Radha for dark-skinned lover, Krishna, at night and even as she goes about her daytime domestic duties.  She is advised to be secretive and clever in her trysts (perhaps only imaginary) with her lover.

The song talks about the wood-smoke bringing tears to the eyes of Radha as she tends the household cooking fire, and about her bathing and swimming in the pond or river. These were things typical of rural India.

The second song is followed by the singer's explanation, in English, of that song's content and emotional context.

Kichhu Din Mone Mone (Kichu Din Mone Mone)  (In Mind, Awhile)

Sri Choron Paabo (Xri Co`ron Pabo) (I Will Touch Your Feet)

Parvathy Baul (Mousumi Parial)

For more videos and information about Bauls, please see:

A Minstrel's Life

I left then everyone, I did.
I left then everything.
I play now on the monochord.
I wander far and sing.

I do not work at jobs or farms.
Unwed, I did depart.
I beg in towns and villages,
And sing my songs of heart.

This monochord, I’ll leave behind
When I am dead and gone.
With my dying breath, I’ll sing and then
My soul will wander on.

Tuesday, 21st June, 2016 CE
Brooklyn, New York

एक बाउल की ज़िन्दगी

मैं छोड़ दिया हूँ, घरवाले को,
छोड़ दिया हूँ सब।
एकतार पर बजाता रहता हूँ,
जोश जब रहे, तब।
मैं किया नहीं हूँ, नौकरी, खेती,
शादी भी नहीं माना।
शहर में, गांव में, भीख माँगता हूँ,
गाता हूँ, दिल का गाना।

मरते हुए, कमज़ोरी में,
गाता रहूँगा फिर भी।
इस एकतार तो रहा जायेगा, लेकिन
दिल चलेगा फिर भी।

मंगलवार, २१ वीं जून, २०१६ ईस्वी,
ब्रुकलीन, न्यूयॉर्क

یک باؤل کی زندگی

میں نے چھوڑ دیا ہوں، گھر والے کو،
چھوڑ دیا ہوں سب.
اےكتار پر بجاتا رہتا ہوں،
جوش جب رہے،تب.
میں کیا نہیں ہوں، نوکری، کاشتکاری،
شادی بھی نہیں مانا.
شہر میں، گاؤں میں، بھیک مانگتا ہوں،
گاتا ہوں، دل کا گانا.

مرتے ہوئے، کمزوری میں،
گاتا رہوں گا پھر بھی.
اس اےكتار تو رہا جائے گا، لیکن
دل چلے گا پھر بھی.
منگل، ۲۱ ویں جون، ۲۰۱۶ ء،
بروک لین، نیویارک

Saturday, June 18, 2016

Xondhe Elo—সন্ধ্যে এল—The Sunset

A recording, two Roman transcriptions and a "free translation" into English are available at: .

The recording is in rather childish Bengali. The "free translation" is still fairly literal.
A word-for-word literal translation, following Bengali syntax, is also provided there, in the lower part of the tables.  That is meant for language learners and for those interested in the differences in syntax between languages.

Note: The recording at the link above might not work on some mobile phone applications and on some networks.  Also, the columns in the tables are best seen together.  This needs a wide-screen view.  Rotating a "smartphone" to get a wider view might perhaps provide such a view.  But the text characters might still be too small to read, without zooming.

The Bengali text is here in this blog post, directly below the image.  There are more images (of sunsets at or near Kolkata) at the bottom of this post, along with viewing instructions.

Sunset in Besonhurst, Brooklyn, looking west along Bath Ave from 19th Ave
Arjun Janah, 2016 June 5th Sun.
সন্ধ্যে এল
সারা দিন গেল, কাজ হল না,
সন্ধ্যে এল শেষে৷
পড়ল মনে, ছোটবেলার
সন্ধ্যে, বাংলাদেশে৷

"বাংলাদেশ" ত নাম ছিল না
রাষ্ট্রের, যেমন এখন৷
মেদিনীপুর আর মালদা ছিল
বাংলাদেশে তখন৷
কোলকাতায়, ভোরবেলাতে,
সূর্য ওঠা দেখে,
জাগত প্রাণে সুখের গীতি,
ভোরের হাওয়া চেখে৷
সন্ধ্যেবেলায়, সূর্য যখন
ডুবছে, কোমল সুরে,
দুখের বিলাপ, কোথার থেকে
আসত তখন ঘুরে৷
দেশ ছাড়লাম, পড়াশোনা
থামল অবশেষে৷
কাজের দিনো চুকল এবার,
এই যে দূরের দেশে৷
খাটনিতে ত ব্যস্ত ছিলাম,
দুপুর, বিকেল বেলায়৷
সন্ধ্যে এল, পড়লাম এবার
বেকার-বৃদ্ধ ঠেলায়৷
বুঝবে কি গো, মগজ আমার,
কোথার থেকে, ওই
সন্ধ্যেবেলার দুখের গীতি,
যতই পড় বই?
শোনো এবার৷ বলছি আমি,
সন্ধ্যেবেলার গান,
ভোরের ভজন, জীবন স্রোতে,
জোয়ারভাটার টান৷

অতীত থেকে আসছে ভেসে,
যাচ্ছে আবার দূরে৷
ভবিষ্যতের খবর নিয়ে,
আসছে আবার ঘুরে৷
দিন ফুরল, কাজ হল না৷
সন্ধ্যে এল শেষে৷
পড়ল মনে, লাল আকাশের
কাব্য, বাংলাদেশে৷
শনিবার, ১৮ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

Evening Chat, by Ujjal Dey
(country boats moored on the Hooghly, with the new Howrah Bridge in the background)

Shades of Romance, by Aniket Sengupta
(lovers by the water at sunset, Kolkata)

Two Men on a Boat,  at Sunset
(on the Hooghly river, near Kolkata)
To see the four images (in this Daily Poet blog post above) in a larger size and clearer form, click on any one image. Then either use the arrow keys on your keyboard to view each image in turn, or else click on the thumbnail images at the bottom of the screen. Click on the white X near the top right of the black background in that "gallery view" to return to this blog post.

An audio recording, two Roman transcriptions, two translations into English and one larger image are available at: .


Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Go`nga Nodir Tire—গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে—By the Banks of the Ganges—गंगा के किनारे—گنگا کے کنارے

The poem, in Bengali script, is followed by a recording, then by two Roman transcriptions, and finally by a free translation into English.

Note:  Translations into Hindi-Urdu (the Urdu being from the Hindi via ) have been added at the end of this post.

In the Hindi translation (written in Devanagari script), the words used are, with some exceptions, mainly those of the lingua franca spoken in many of the cities and villages of the northern and central subcontinent, rather than those of the more formal, Sanskritized Hindi.

This popular form of Hindi-Urdu, used by Hindus, Muslims and others, had fewer borrowings from Arabic and Farsi than literary Urdu. Some used to call it "Hindustani", before the Partition of 1947.  It is still very much in use, in both India and Pakistan, and is widely understood in both countries.

Comments, criticism and corrections are very much needed.  These can be made through the small "Post a comment." link near the bottom of this post (above the "Links to this post" heading), or via e-mail to

Young Man by the Ganges, Facebook post by Arati Kumar-Rao
(Click the "See more" link at the end of the text in the Facebook post.)
গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে

গঙ্গা নদীর তীরে,
বইছে হাওয়া আজ৷
বসে আছি আশায় আমি,
মিলবে কবে কাজ?

স্রোতের জোর ত কমছে ক্রমে,
খরচা কমছে না৷
এপ্লিকেসান ভরছি রোজি,
জবাব পাচ্ছি না৷

বুধবার, ১৫-ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

This might not be available on mobile phones and some networks.
To hear the audio recording in Google's Chrome browser:
  1) first, click the triangular play button on the right, above;
  2) then click either:
    a) that button again to play the audio in the background (on this page);
    b) the rectangular button on the left, above, for audio at the Vocaroo site.
The procedure in other browsers might be slightly different.
Vocaroo: Record and upload audio >>
Go`nga Nodir Tire

Go`nga nodir tire,
boiche haoa aj.
Boxe achi axae ami,
milbe ko`be kaj.

Sroter jor to komche kro`me,
kho`rca komche na.
E`plikexo`n bhorchi roji,
jo`bab pacchi na. 

Budhbār, 15-i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk

Gaṅgā Nadīr Tīrē

Gaṅgā nadīr tīrē,
ba'ichē hā'ōẏā āj.
Basē āchi āśāẏ āmi,
milbē kabē kāj?

Srōtēr jōr ta kamchē kramē,
kharca kamchē nā.
Ēplikēsān bharchi rōji,
jabāb pācchi nā.

Budhbar, 15-i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
By the Banks of the Ganges

A breeze is blowing from the river.
I sit on the banks and think,
“When will I get a job?”

The river is slowing,
but expenses are not.
I fill out applications,
but I get no replies.

2016, June 15th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

गंगा के किनारे

गंगा नदी के किनारों पर,
हवा बह रही है अब।
मैं बैठा रहा हूँ, इस उम्मीद मे --
एक नौकरी मिलेगी कब?

नदी की ताकत कमती रहती है,
लेकिन खर्चे बढ़ रहा है।
हर रोज, आवेदन भेजता रहता हूँ।
लेकिन जवाब मिलता नहीं है।

बुधवार, १५ जून, २०१६ ईस्वी
ब्रुकलीन, न्यूयॉर्क 

    گنگا کے کنارے 

،گنگا دریا کے کناروں پر 
.ہوا بہہ رہی ہے اب 
-میں بیٹھا رہا ہو، اس امید میں 
ایک نوکری ملے گی کب؟ 
،دریا کی طاقت كمتي رہتی ہے 
.یکن خرچ بڑھ رہا ہے 
.ہر روز، درخواست بھیجتا رہتا ہوں 
.لیکن جواب حاصل نہیں ہے 
بدھ، ۱۵ جون، ۲۰۱۶ ء 
  بروک لین، نیویارک 

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Sunday, June 12, 2016

Ro`kto Xagor—রক্ত সাগর—Blood Ocean

Dead Trees and Blood Ocean, Andaman and Nicobar Islands
© Rohan Chakravarty, 2012

Blood Ocean

The storm came—the great typhoon.
All was swept away.
At sunset, the ocean turns to blood.
Who calls for me?

2016 June 10th, Fri
Brooklyn, New York


Storm blew—typhoon immense.
All (emphasis) went, alas!
Stayed only blood-ocean.
Who calls me?

Friday, 10th June, 2016
Brooklyn, New York
রক্ত সাগর

ঝড় বইল—তুফান বিশাল৷
সব-ই গেল, হায়!
রইল শুধু রক্ত সাগর৷
কে ডাকে আমায়?

শুক্রুবার, ১০ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক

This might not be available on mobile phones and some networks.
To hear the audio recording in Google's Chrome browser:
  1) first, click the triangular play button on the right, above;
  2) then click either:
    a) that button again to play the audio in the background (on this page);
    b) the rectangular button on the left, above, for audio at the Vocaroo site.
The procedure in other browsers might be slightly different.
Vocaroo: Audio recording and upload >>

Ro`kto Xagor

Jho`r boilo—tuphan bixal.
Xo`bi ge`lo, hae!
Roilo xudhu ro`kto xagor.
Ke d'ake amae?

Xukrubar, 10i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk

Rakta Sāgar

Jhaṛ ba'ila—tuphān biśāl.
Sab-i gēla, hāẏ!
Ra'ila śudhu rakta sāgar.
Kē ḍākē āmāẏ?

Śukrubār, 10i Jun, 2016 khri
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Dur Theke Prem--দূর থেকে প্রেম

এটা শুধু একটা কাব্যিক রোমান্স, আমার নিজের সাধারণ জীবন যাপন থেকে খুবি দূরে৷
The earlier recording has been replaced by a slightly better one.

This might not be available on mobile phones and some networks.
To hear the audio recording in Google's Chrome browser:
  1) first, click the triangular play button on the right, above;
  2) then click either:
    a) that button again to play the audio in the background (on this page);
    b) the rectangular button on the left, above, for audio at the Vocaroo site.
The procedure in other browsers might be slightly different.

Record music and voice with Vocaroo >>
দূর থেকে প্রেম

আহা, সুন্দরী! দেখেছি তোমারে
দূর থেকে, পড়েছি প্রেমে৷
যা কিছু বলার, তোমার চাহনে
রয়েছে কন্ঠে থেমে৷

মুগ্ধ হয়েছি তোমার দৃশ্যে,
ভক্ত হয়েছি আমি৷
গেয়েছি কীর্তন, এতদিন ধরে,
জানিনা কি করে থামি৷

বলেছি নিজেকে, মর্ত নারীকে
করেছ মনে মনে দেবী৷
এ পাপের কারণে, ভুগবে৷ তবুও
নমেছি তোমারে, দেবী৷
নিরাকার গুরুর গুণগান গেয়ে,
মাথা নত করে যে,
বুঝবে কি কখনো প্রেমের ধর্ম,
যতই উদার সে?
মাটি থেকে বানানো প্রতিমায়, উপোসে,
অঞ্জলি দেয় যারা,
সইবে কি, তাই বলে, আমার দেবীকে,
যতই মেনেছে তারা?
চুপিচুপি কেবল গেয়েছি গীতি৷
লুকিয়ে করেছি পূজো৷
তোমার পায়ের ধূলি, ও প্রিয়া,
চুমিয়ে হয়েছি দ্বিজ৷

দেখোনি আমার মর্মে, তুমি
শোনোনি আমার গান৷
জানো নি তোমার চাঁদের মুখের
জোয়ারভাটার টান৷ 
নিমেষের হাতের স্পর্শে অথবা
চোখের মিলনে যখনো
জ্বলেছে বিদ্যুৎ, বুকে ও অঙ্গে,
স্তব্ধ রয়েছি তখনো৷

যদি কোনো দিন মনে পড়ে সেই
ইতস্ততঃ আমার,
হেসেও তখন ক্ষমা কোরো একে—
এই দ্বিধা ভরা প্রেমিক তোমার৷

রবিবার, ৫ই জুন, ২০১৬ খ্রি

(চতুর্থ, পঞ্চম ও অষ্টম স্তবক: বৃহস্পতিবার, ৯ জুন)
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক