All is Naught--and Naught is All

I am not sure what this signifies, if anything. It came to me somehow and so I have written it down.

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All is Naught—and Naught is All
 
What cleaves the self from what it sees as other
And separates, in time, the child and mother?
What grace might free us from the trap we’re in
That makes the brother turn against the brother?
 
I asked these questions, turning towards that sky
That sees us being born and sees us die.
I asked these questions. All I got was naught—
No answer as to what—or how—or why.
 
And left with this, as all who ask might be,
I asked myself—and then began to see
What words or sight or thoughts cannot convey—
The naught that births the timeless, boundless sea.
 
******
 
I pondered this, perplexed, and wondered why
I’d sensed this not by grace of sea or sky,

But from within my bounded self—and why
I should not view it as an useless lie.
 
And so I sank within again and found
An emptiness devoid of light and sound
That yet was filled with all the blazing stars,
With silence bearing still a sense profound.
 
“Within the naught, there does reside the all—
And so the all is nothing but the naught.
And this, when realized in depth, would be
The sum and essence of the wisdom taught
By pointing towards what can’t be said or thought—
The door to sight beyond what eyes can see
Or ears can hear. The fog in which we’re caught,
When cleared, reveals the link of naught to all.”
 
2023 October 23, Mon.
Berkeley, California
 

Poetry—and Fortune

 
Poetry—and Fortune

Poetry, in you I found a solace true—
Depicting, in a foreign tongue, what I 
Perceived of worth, in spite of all we rue  
In this, the world we’re in, not knowing why 
We came—or whence—or where we’re going to.

And then, on finding, buried deep within, 
My own forgotten tongue, whose cadence I
Had gained in childhood, through my closest kin,
And then had seemed to lose—and left to die,
I found the strength to turn—and so begin. 

******

How rarely do we get, alas, this chance
To find again what we had thought we’d lost!
As one by one the words began to dance
Upon my tongue, not asking for the cost 
Of long neglect, I felt the grace of Chance—

That goddess, yes, to whom we rarely pray,
Who yet determines what we are and do,
Whose willful whims we must perforce obey—
Who spins, upon her fingers, me and you—
And only rarely kisses us—in play.

******

And so the prosody of Greece and Rome
Had passed, through western isles, to a distant land—
Where I, like others, spoke a tongue at home
And learned, in school, to speak and understand
Another that we made in part our own—

And then had met the rhythms, side by side, 
Of a lilting tongue of sky and sun and field—
Of cloud and rain and rivers flowing wide—
To clash with these and then to merge and yield—
To birth the waves that motes like me could ride.

2023 January 26th, Thu.
Berkeley, California

Isolation

  
Isolation
 
We live on islands that are now connected
By pulses coursing swiftly through the lines—
Yet still, in much that matters, disconnected,
As fear and distance carve dividing lines.
 
So what was joined—and one—is split in two
And then in even more of pieces. These
Are pushed and pulled apart, as in-between
The chasms fill with ever-growing seas.
 
We spend our leisure time on mobile phones—
As work consumes the lives of those with jobs.
What time is left for looking in the soul
Or feeling in the heart that quietly throbs?
 
We seek to bridge the gulfs of distance, time—
And realize, too late, how hard that is.
And meanwhile, we neglect the ones nearby,
Who need the time for just a bit of bliss.
 
We each need solitude at times, but not
This fragmentation of the parts. The whole
Is part of what we are. A leaf that's plucked
Will shrivel. So, the isolated soul.
 
2022, June 13^th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
 

The Foghorn

The Foghorn

As the autumn ends, a foghorn blows
On a ship on New York Bay,
For the mist at sea has turned to fog,
As night replaces day.

And I at home can hear that sound—
A distant, rumbling moan—
And so am one with the ship at sea
That was, till now, unknown.

And from that ship I see the shore
With the fog-dimmed, twinkling lights,
As shipmates’ thoughts return to those
They had sadly left behind.

******
 
It moves upon the waters, dark;
It slows; it pauses, stops.
And the waters lap on the sides of the ship,
As they do on the distant rocks.

The lanterns shine on those waters and
On the fog that swirls around,
As the windows mist and there issues forth
That eerie blast of sound.

The autumn ends and the winter comes
And the fogs are forming still.
But the foghorn blows on New York Bay,
As time is standing still.

2018 November 2, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

  

Windows

Windows

We were scattered over continents—
With oceans in between.
And those with whom we'd bonded were,
For long, unheard, unseen.

But now there is the Internet
And mobile phones and more,
And so we're back in contact with
The ones we'd lost before.

But some are gone, and newer ones—
The ones we'd never known—
Now show themselves—in image, text—
On screens we each might own.

******

We did have phones for quite a while,
At least in urban places.
But calls were few and far between,
Across the global spaces.

But speech can now be cheaply heard,
And the voices from the past—
That still survive—have a cadence slow,
In a world that changes fast.

We marvel at these miracles
That seem like science-fictions
And wonder at the spouses, kids
And the old, familiar dictions.

The ones who once were youngsters now
Have grandkids and have wrinkles.
We see on screens these wonders and
We feel we’re Rip Van Winkles.

******

And yet, although we now can peer
Through windows, space divides us.
So most of us can still not reach
And touch the ones not near us.

So when a father has a stroke
Or when a mother cries,
We dare not ask for leaves from jobs,
Unless we trade in lies.

And when a parent perishes
And the other takes to bed,
We're lucky to get half a week
To seem to serve the dead.

******

Some travel every month across
The continents and oceans
On business trips—and also fly
To faraway vacations.

And some enjoy this flying high
But others quickly tire
And wish there was a quiet place
To which they could retire

For leaving those we love behind
To deal with their travails
Is hardly good for peace of mind—
Or fit when someone ails.

Yet others save for many years
For a trip across the borders,
And most of us will rarely go
Beyond a boss’s orders.

******

We fly across the world or cross
A desert in the darkness,
But spend what then is left of life
In a job that acts as harness.

We travel to and from our work
In a captive state of mind
And use our phones as windows to
The worlds we’ve left behind.

And some can buy a ticket and
Then fly across the sky—
But most are bound to where they are,
Until they too can die.

2018, September 22nd, Sun.
(verses added Sep. 25th, Tue.)
Brooklyn, New York

   

Beloved, Where Are You?

Beloved, Where Are You?

The sun is warm upon the skin,
The sky is blazing blue,
And I am walking in the sun
And thinking still of you.

The little birds are chirping as
They fly from tree to tree,
And feelings, long held captive, now
Are rising, wild and free.

The winter has departed and
The spring is here to stay.
It seems that we were walking in
The spring, but yesterday.

The trees are dancing in the breeze,
As they had danced before.
But you, who’d stood and smiled at these,
Are now with us no more.

The greens of newborn leaves are flames
That rise towards the blue.
The sky and earth are singing—yet,
Beloved, where are you?

2018 May 24th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
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Note: Any connections that such hinted romances may have with the scribe's own life (which has been mostly ordinary and unromantic) are tenuous at best. 
  

For Me and You

For Me and You

We humans weren’t ever meant to be
As lonely jackals, wary of the rest.
We need at times our solitude—and yet
We need some others too, to be our best.

In nature, there are solitary beasts.
The male orangutan may munch alone.
But lonely humans at their lunches ask—
What sin was it, for which they now atone?

We hurry to our schools or jobs and there
We meet with fellow humans—more than less,
And this may tire us or sustain us, so
Our lunches may be respites from the stress.

******

But when we are confined, at home or work,
And see and hear no others for a while—
That might be days or weeks or even months—
We might forget to laugh—or even smile.

And now—in exiles or in prisons or
In lonely houses or in sterile wards,
We humans wither, torn from those we loved,
Who now are distant—or forever gone.

We pine for scents and tastes and textures that
Are now but memories—fading, even lost.
The years go by—and then the decades too.
And this is progress—with its human cost.

******

And so we worry and we wonder how
We might fulfill our duties to the ones
From whom we parted. Mothers rise to speak
In daughters’ dreams—and fathers, in their sons’.

As sap is what sustains the cells of trees,
And flows, within us, keep our own alive,
And like the air and water—and the foods we eat,
So also is this join, on which we thrive.

We need to feel the earth and see the sky,
To hear the plants, the beasts—and humans too.
There is a vibrance that connects and heals—
And so I write this verse—for me and you.

******
 
And yet—we age and in our age despair
Of ever having strength to reach across
The oceans and the continents—for some
Have hardly strength to bear the local cross.

How often has an exile wished to be
Not one, but two or even more—so she
Could be in places far apart at once—
And realized that this could never be.

So all that we can do, it seems, is this—
To do as needed in the place we are,
For we are locals, like the nesting hens
That cannot wander, from their clutches, far.

******

We're blown apart by commerce and by war.
The wealth is drained from villages to towns
And thence to hubs of industry or where
The bankers rule and presidents are clowns.

In dreams, our bodies may be imaged, and
In waking, minds are often split in two—
And only half is present where we walk,
The other being where we’re needed too.

But let me dwell no more on sorrows here,
For surely you have had enough of those.
I can’t be near to you in body, but
Remember—that in spirit, I am close.

2018 April 5th Thu. & 7th Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
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"Does wisdom come with age?"
"It does with some of us, dear, but not with the humans.
Those beasts are very slow learners."
http://news.discovery.com/animals/videos/why-cant-chimps-speak-video-140919.htm

  

What Chance

What Chance

You were waiting by a doorway
for the bus—and smiled at me.
And I at first ignored this—
until you came to mind.
I only then responded—
but your eyes were smiling still.

   

And later, you had dropped by,
for half an hour or so.
Our hands had touched, so briefly—
with a current passing through.

For a quarter of a century,
I have seen you come and go—
so near and yet so distant—
and always in my mind.

There’s a bond that long has linked us,
in the strangest kind of way.
It has kept us always tethered,
but always still apart.

I have seen your bloom, your fading.
I have memorized your face—
the curving of your eyelids—
your planes and shapes and shades.
 
There were dreams I had of holding
your form within my arms—
and I always then dismissed these
as idle thoughts that passed.
I even dreamt we had kissed, once,
but I smiled—and said, “What chance!”
 
2017 January 27th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
   

With All Your Heart

With All Your Heart

We walk the roads of duty and desire.
We’re driven from our homes by fears and needs.
We’re scattered to the winds like autumn’s leaves.
Like windblown seeds, we seek to sprout and thrive.

We build our fortunes out of sand and snow
And then we see them flow and disappear.
What hurts us most is when our loves depart,
And all we then can do is wait our turn.

Oh actor—see, how you arrive and leave.
So play your part with zest and graciousness.
Though all your actions will be blown away,
You still can live and love, with all your heart.
 
2016 December 29th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York  
    

Our Wisp of Verse

Our Wisp of Verse

The present moment—that is all we have.
And yet we have it not—it comes and goes,
As water, streaming, rises, ebbs and flows.
Can men possess the wind, contain the tide
Or claim, where those, whose lives have ended, hide?
 
From vastness, we are gathered for a while,
And back into the vast we each will go.
Oh friend of mine, that I have come to know,
How brief our tryst, before the winds disperse
Both you and I and this—our wisp of verse!

If there's a reason for existence, then
It can't be figured by our mortal wits.
We each are formed—and scattered back to bits
That merge with water, earth and endless sky,
Not ever knowing whence or whither, why.

I saw, upon the trackless ocean, this—
A leaf of autumn, bobbing on the seas
That troughed and crested, driven by the breeze.
Who knew, from where that withered leaf had blown—
Or where, its siblings that it once had known?

We build our villages and towns and roads
And so find comfort in our time on Earth.
But what's the road that sent us to our birth
And where's the village that awaits us when
We each are sent upon our way again?

Annihilation marks the end of life.
The spirit leaves the body, so it seems.
No magic words and no fantastic schemes
Can bring it back, for even just a while
To shed that tear or look and gently smile.

If only we could speak with those we loved
And hold them in our arms and cry and smile—
If only we were given just a while
To make amends, in speech and attitude,
And then let go, in peace and gratitude...

What vanity—those ends that we pursue
Beyond what's needed so we each survive.
And yet, what seeming comfort we derive
In hoping that our work was not in vain,
Although we lived and worked and died in pain.

So come, my friend, and walk with me a while.
Before we part, we each should laugh and cry
At this absurdity, so when we die
We might remember, as our souls disperse,
Our time together and our rhyming verse.

2016 December 4th, Mon. 1:11 am
Northwest Berkeley, California 

Exile-IV

Exile-IV

We can long for what’s no longer.
We can pine for loves we’ve lost.
We can wish we were with kinsfolk
Or friends we had when young.

We can love our native country.
We can miss its speech and song.
We can yearn, when we’re in exile,
To be back where we belong.

And then, upon returning,
And seeing a nephew smile,
Within our native city,
We might rejoice a while.

But then there are the conflicts
That even roil one’s clan.
And we learn of crime, corruption—
So we’re back where we began.

Yet we see that all is changing—
That nothing’s ever still.
For some, the change is better,
For more, it’s more of ill.

The fantasy that distance
And time created goes.
We’re in our native country
And it still is full of woes.

For those like us who left it
And never could return,
Such thoughts arise in dreaming
And then we wake and turn.

2016 February 5th, Fri, 6:51 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
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Related posts:
   

• Exile-III  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2016/01/exile-iii.html)
• Exile-II  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/04/exile-ii.html)
• Exile  (http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/03/exile.html)

      

Exile-III

 
Exile—III
  
I have tasted of your juices,
I have savored of your scents.
So your scents are in my nostrils,
And your tastes upon my tongue.

I have breathed in. Inhalation
Has carried you within me.
I have breathed out. Exhalation
Has given you my love.

It is said that we are mindful
Of the things that are at hand.
But with distance, there's a longing
That the lovers understand.
    
******
  
I have lusted for your textures,
I have yearned for all your sights.
I have dreamed of you in daytime,
I have tossed for you at nights.
  
Has my love been unrequited?
That only you can know.
I have felt your heartbeat quicken,
I have seen your motions slow.
     
Your were near and yet were distant.
You are far and yet are near.
And your absence is a presence
That is hard for me to bear.
       
When I left you for another,
Did you notice, did you cry?
Did you ask then for a reason?
Did you ever wonder why?
     
No, you didn't even notice,
For you'd hardly notice me,
Who was one of many millions
That by chance had come to be.
  
But you gave me life and fed me,
And I grew beneath your sky.
And I never really left you,
Though it seems that now I lie.
     
For you are my native country,
You're the land of all my dreams.
Though I seem to be so distant,
It isn't what it seems.
       
You are with me still in music.
I can hear you in my voice.
In my exile, you are in me.
So I dream, and I rejoice.
     
*******
      
As a tree, that is uprooted
And is planted in a soil
That is foreign, may not flourish,
So the worker and his toil.
    
As a mite upon your body,
As a mote upon your skin,
I was one you'd hardly notice,
But I've borne you in my soul.
       
As the years have stretched to many,
And the memories start to fade,
I can delve within and find you,
So I once again am whole.
     
2016 January 23rd, Sat.10:25 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
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For a more rational view of this, see the short piece:  Exile--II  
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/04/exile-ii.html
 
For a rather wistful, resigned reflection on this, see: Exile
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/03/exile.html  
   

In the Gray

In the Gray
  
In the gray that marks the winters
Of the coastal polar climes,
I’ve wandered on deserted streets
And mouthed my dismal rhymes.

In the silences of holidays,
I’ve passed by windows lit,
Conversing with my lonesome self,
With remnants left of wit.

And so it is with exiles
And so it is with those
Who’re born to die in prisons
Or live in those they chose.

We humans are a social lot—
And wounded loners need
Some company to soothe their souls,
So healing can proceed.
 
How many days and weeks and months
And even scores of years
We humans bear, removed from those
For whom we shed our tears?

In the gray that marks the winters
Of the lands towards the poles,
The migrants gain their living, while
They slowly lose their souls.

There is light and there is darkness.
There is evil, there is good.
And then—there is the grayness
That blurs what’s understood.

  

So we wander in our limbos
In the foggy shades of gray
And we wonder how it happened
That we lost, alas, our way.

“...and deliver us from evil.” 
In the school that I attended,
We would say this in the morning
And again when classes ended.

But we never said a prayer
That said, “Save us from the gray.”
In my dotage, still in exile,
I should say this every day.

2015 December 26th, Sat. 12:51 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
  

Departure-II

 
Departure—II

“So tell me then, my father,
The reason you depart.
How long will you be staying
From all of us apart?”

“I am going now, my daughter,
To that land that’s over there—
To trade the things I’m taking
For the other things we need.

“I will climb upon those mountains
To that windswept pass on high,
And I’ll walk beside the glacier,
As the cloud goes streaming by.

“And I’ll follow then the streamlet
To the river’s gorge and hear
The roaring, rushing waters,
As they tumble cold and clear.

“Descending past the boulders,
Towards the valley—shaded, green,
I will view the river, coursing
Through the plains below, serene.

“To that land beyond the mountains,
I am going, through that pass—
But when I am returning,
I do not know, alas!

“But when I come from there, love,
I’ll come with things for you
And mom and all the others—
So be a good girl, do!”

“Go then, my dearest father.
Be careful on your way.
We’ll wait for you, our father,
And for your safety pray.”

Arjun Janah
2015 Dec 13th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
-------------------------------------------------

Please see also:  Departure
      
     

Echoes

 
Echoes 
   
  

Chaos

     
When I get up in the morning,
And I totter from my bed,
I remember then my father,
Who’s been only three years dead.

And then looking in the mirror,
Since I’ve shaved away my beard,
I can see my father’s visage
And no longer think that’s weird.

The grunt I make on rising,
The downturn of my mouth,
Remind me that I’m aging,
For my parts are going south.

And I see and hear my father
And my uncles, grandpas, more—
That lineage, male, of elders
Who walked this way before.

So I go about my business,
But suddenly I laugh,
Remembering a gem-like grain
My father picked from chaff.
 
He had an eye and ear for it.
I hear, as I grow old,
His mild remarks that made one smile,
The stories that he told...

******
   
But when I see a stranger
And I see that stranger smile,
I know my mother’s in me
And will remain a while.

For that was how they greeted
My mother, who had eyes
That looked on them with kindness,
As each would then surmise.

And so it is with puppies
And even dogs when grown—
Except it’s me who’s smiling,
As if they were my own.

She had a way with animals,
As she also had with us.
Her instincts, of the kinder sort,
She acted on—sans fuss.

So though she was a mortal
And so had faults like all,
It seemed she was an angel,
Who’d chanced, by us, to fall.

And so my aunts and grandmas,
And that widow, with a will,
Who mothered so my sister,
Are each within me still.

******
 
I see my sister walking
Within a region hallowed.
She went her way before me.
I often wish I’d followed.

I call to her, “I’m coming.”
She doesn’t seem to hear.
I stand and watch my sister—
So distant, yet so near.

In everything she tried to do,
It seemed that she was gifted.
And yet, with so much left to do,
Her soul, from Earth, was lifted.

I read the pages of the book
She’d written with such grace.
And as I read, she lives again,
And I can read her face.

******
 
I also see the others—
From the villages and towns—
To whom I sat and listened—
The sages and the clowns…

My cousins, older, younger,
The friends I made at school,
And those who once were neighbors—
Are still within this fool.

For a fool is what I’ve turned to,
Upon my downward arc.
And so, to all that brightness,
I turn to, in the dark.

Our childhoods might be wretched,
But even those have light.
The hurts are healed and hidden,
The blessings stay in sight.

******
 
We circle, in our journeys
From birth to death, so when
We near our mortal endings,
We’re back where we began.

And where was my beginning,
Except where I was born?
So there I'll be returning
To mend the fabric torn.

I will see again the rivers
And the fields of gold and green,
So even in my misery
A breeze will blow, serene.

Village River, by Samiran Sarkar, 2011
http://www.absolutearts.com/art-for-sale/themes/all/landscape/river-5.html

 
I will hear the city’s bustle;
I will see the city’s skies.
I will squint up at the cloudscape;
I will watch the kite that flies.

I will hear the tongues my kinsfolk spoke.
I will hear the dialects’ speech.
I will savor, as I’m dying,
The flavor that’s in each.

The languages of childhood,
Of the land that gave me birth,
Their timbres and their cadences,
I’ll hear, when leaving Earth.

******

The aged are often treated
With disrespect and worse.
The scoldings are repeated,
With orders sharp and terse.

There are echoes from our childhoods
That we hear through all our lives.
And among these there are voices
That can help us bear the jibes.

There are voices past of wisdom,
There are voices that are sweet.
There are voices that are sterner
That can help us bear defeat.
   

Chaos and Perception

I’ve traveled, in my journeys,
Across the theaters grand.
I’ve met the proud and humble
And grasped the offered hand.

But when I’m near my ending
And racked by grief and pain,
The proud will be forgotten;
The humble might remain.

But surely those, that childhood
Had seen with a widened eye,
And those, to whom I bonded,
Will haunt me, as I die.

So when my hearing’s faded,
I will hear those echoes weak—
I will hear my parents talking,
I will hear my sister speak.

     
2015 September 12th, Sat., 10:20 pm
Skyway Restaurant, Bath Avenue
(some stanzas added Sept. 14th, Sun.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

  

দূরের থেকে প্রেম—Durer Theke Prem—Romance from Afar

 
These ditties are fiction.  My own experiences in the field of romantic love have been very limited, but I seem to be making up for that in these amours I am spinning in my dotage.

I seem to be doing this spinning, in the main, in two languages.  There might be some significance in that—or not.

One of these languages is my mother tongue, Bangla (Bengali).  My formal education in this language was poor and interrupted, and my reading in it has been very limited.  So my Bengali vocabulary remains, to a large extent, at the level of a student in elementary school.

The other language, English, was once, along with troops, armaments and more, a vehicle of colonial rule in my land of birth.  It is also the primary language of the country I have lived in for the past forty years.  But I still have my strong native accent and I still have to struggle to pronounce English words in either of the two main standard ways.  That is a handicap indeed when venturing to write poetry.

Nevertheless, here's yet more of the froth.

Once again, I have provided, following the piece in the traditional Bengali script, two Roman transcriptions (this time, with Google's version first) and then a translation into English.
---------------------------------------
 
দূরের থেকে প্রেম

দূরের থেকে ভালবাসা,
দূরের থেকে প্রেম —
রইবে কি সে বছর ধরে?
বল আমায়,  মেম৷

মাঝে মাঝে চোখাচোখি,
মাঝে মৃদু হাসি,
এই দিয়ে কি চলবে গাড়ি?
কহ,  প্রাচ্যবাসী৷

টানতে হবে, ঠেলতে হবে,
নইলে যাবে থেমে৷
সকল দেশে, পথের ওপর
খাটনি আছে,  প্রেমে৷

উত্তরে যাও, দক্ষিনে যাও,
পশ্চিমে বা পূর্বে,
ততই কথা সত্যি হবে,
যতই দূরে ঘুরবে৷

দূরের থেকে, প্রেমের বাঁধন
হবে ক্রমে ক্ষয়৷
ভালবাসা পেতে, সখী,
দিতেও কিছু হয়৷

বিকেল ৫:৩৪, শুক্রবার 
৩রা জুন, ২০১৫ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক 
---------------------------------------

The Roman transcription directly below was obtained via http://google.com/translate.  I have lightly edited this "machine transcription".  This was done mainly to remove unnecessary short a's (those that should not be pronounced) and to put in capitalization and periods that had been left out.

Those who are not familiar with this transcription scheme, but wish to use it to learn (or at least correctly pronounce) Bengali, might want to read the note at the very end of the post at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2015/07/beside-seaxagor-tire-sagar-tire.html.
---------------------------------------

Dūrēr Thēkē Prēm

Dūrēr thēkē bhālabāsā,
dūrēr thēkē prēm—
ra'ibē ki sē bachar dharē?
Bala āmāẏ, mēm.

Mājhē mājhē cōkhācōkhi,
mājhē mr̥du hāsi,
Ē'i diẏē ki calbē gāṛi?
Kaha, prācyabāsī.

ṭāntē habē, ṭhēltē habē,
na'ilē yābē thēmē
Sakal dēśē, pathēr ōpar
khāṭni āchē, prēmē.

Uttarē yā'ō, dakṣinē yā'ō,
paścimē bā pūrbē,
tata'i kathā satyi habē,
yata'i dūrē ghurbē.

Dūrēr thēkē, prēmēr bām̐dhan
habē kramē kṣaẏ.
Bhālabāsā pētē, sakhī,
ditē'ō kichu haẏ.

bikēl 5:34, Śukrabār 
3rā Jun, 2015 khri
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
---------------------------------------

The transcription scheme used below is my own and is briefly summarized at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html.
---------------------------------------

Durer Theke Prem
  
Durer theke bhalobaxa,
durer theke prem—
roibe ki xe bo`chor dhore?
Bo`lo amae, mem.

Majhe majhe cokhacokhi,
majhe mridu haxi,
ei die ki colbe gar’i?
Ko`ho, praccobaxi.

T’ante ho`be, t’helte ho`be,
Noile jabe theme.
Xo`kol dexe, po`ther opor
khat’ni ache, preme.

Uttore jao, dokkhine jao,
poxcime ba purbe,
to`toi ko`tha xotti ho`be,
jo`toi dure ghurbe.

Durer theke, premer ba~dhon
ho`be kro`me kho`e.
Bhalobaxa pete, xokhi,
diteo kichu ho`e.

bikel 5:34, Xukrubar
3ra Jun, 2015 khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
---------------------------------------
 
Below this is a translation of the poem into English. In all but a few lines, the translation is fairly literal.   However, those attempting to decipher the Bengali from the translation should be warned that word-order in Bengali is radically different from that in English.

This is true, not only for Bengali, but for most Indian languages, and indeed, most Asian ones, (with the Sinic, Malay and Mon-Khmer tongues being notable exceptions) relative to most European languages (with Turkish and some of the Samoyedic and Uralic languages being the main exceptions to the European ordering).

In particular, postpositions are used rather than prepositions, and the standard word order is subject-object-verb, rather than subject-verb-object as is standard in most of Europe.  However, thanks to case-endings (usually case-postpositions), there is considerable flexibility in the word order, be this for emphasis or for other effect. This is a boon when writing in rhythmic verse.
---------------------------------------

   

Romance from Afar

The love that is from far away,
The warm, imagined kiss—
Can this remain, for years and years?
Do tell me, western miss.

The eyes that meet from time to time,
The shy and furtive smile—
Will this sustain, dear eastern maid,
Love’s train, for mile and mile?

Without the pull and push, the train
Will slow and then will stop.
In every land, there’s labor on
The tracks, for every love.

Go north or south or west or east.
You’ll find it’s always true.
The more you wander from your love,
The more the loss you’ll rue.

The distance wears away, in time,
The ties that let it live.
To get of love, my dearest, you
Will also have to give.

5:34 pm, Friday
June 3, 2015
Brooklyn, New York
  

Beside the Sea—Xagor Tire—সাগর তীরে—Sāgar Tīrē

 
This is a curious piece, with some archaisms that might seem incongruous.  It is followed by a translation into Bengali, which is in three versions:

1. firstly, in my own strange Roman transcription scheme, which follows the pronunciation rather than the standard spelling, as was briefly summarized in the preface at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html ; 
2. secondly, in the beautiful traditional Bengali script, attempting to reproduce the the standard spelling;  
3. and finally, in the Roman transcription (which I will refer to as the "machine transcription") provided by the software program at http://google.com/translate.  A note on this transcription can be found at the very end of the current post.

Hopefully, these three versions, taken together with the English original, might be of some assistance to those attempting to learn Bengali.  However, for those with little or no prior knowledge of Bengali, nor of other Indian languages, a word-for-word translation might be needed, as the word-order is radically different between English and most Indian languages.  I have not provided this here.

It is often difficult to translate a poem in a literal fashion. But in this case, much (though not all) of the translation is quite literal, without, hopefully, too much harm to the sensibilities. Some might say that this is because of the seemingly absurd nature of the content. Nonsense translated literally might at times make just as fine a nonsense as the original!  Protesting feebly, I will leave you to judge.
--------------------------------------------------------
     
Beside the Sea

When waves reflect the sun at noon
Or dance beneath the shining moon,
Beside the broad and shimmering sea,
I walk and watch and wait for thee.

When seagulls flee before the squall,
To thee, across the waves, I call.
When swells are heaving in the dark,
Thine answer comes.  I turn and hark.
 
But then I ask, “Is that the wind?”
So heaven tortureth those who’ve sinned.
Yet, unrepentant still, I cry,
“The gods’ commandments, I defy!”

******
  
As ants that crawl upon the land,
Can humans ever understand
The deep, the vast, the endless sea,
With all her trove of mystery?

How stormy was the sea that day,
When I saw thee go thy way.
But even when she's still, I see
Her whim hath cruelly taken thee.

******
    
By fortune met and separated,
Are those, who might perhaps have mated,
If chance and destiny had turned
And what the gods decreed had spurned.
 
And so, to where I last had seen thee,
On that day so gray and windy,
I return—to seek and pine,
By that shore, where thou wast mine.

At sunrise, when the air is chill,
Beside the sea, I’m walking still,
As I had been at sunset time,
With thoughts of thee—and this, my rhyme.
 
2015 June 21st, Mon., 6:57 pm
Gravesend Bay, Brooklyn, New York
(translated into Bengali, July 1st, Wed.)
--------------------------------------------------------
 
Xagor Tire

Dupurer roder nice, rater ca~der aloe,
nace jo`khon xari xari d’heu,
ha~ti to`khon bixal, jhikmike xomudrer tire,
tomar o`pekkhae.

Xo`nkocil jo`khon palae jho`r’er theke,
to`khon tir theke d’aki tomae.
Rater o`ndhokare, d’heuer xaxer majhe,
Xuni je`no dure, tomar jo`bab.

To`be bhabi to`khon, “Ot’a ki haoa?”
Papir pir’o`n—nixt’hur debder xasti et’a!
Nachor’ ami, c~echie ut’hi tai,
“Manbo na ko`khono, tomader dabi!”
 
******

Pi~pr’er moto d’angae he~t’e be`r’ae manux.
Tara ki ko`beo bujhbe eke?
Ei gobhir, o`xim, o`par mo`haxagor?
Ei dha~dha-he~yali bho`ra mo`hol?

Jho`rer majhe gele tumi
ei xagorer buke.
Xagor jo`khon xanto, to`khon
tao to dekhi xet’a.

******
   
Je ko`pale jeta, xei ko`palei har!

Kon po`the je xanti chilo, dut’i be`lar xukh,

Janbo na go, janbo na go,
Janbo na go ta.

Ei o`kul, obiram xagorer tire,
pe-e-o, har’ie chilam tomae.
Tai to barbar axi—rate, dine.
Bhabi, tumi e`khon kothae?

Xondhe be`lae xurjo d’obe,
bhor be`late ot’he.
Dui belatei, tomar kho~je,
ha~t’i, xagor tire.

xondhe 6:57,  Xombar, 29e Jun
Grevzend’ Be, Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
(Banglae onubad, Budhbar, 1la Julai)
--------------------------------------------------------
   
সাগর তীরে
  
দুপুরের রোদের নীচে, রাতের চাঁদের আলোয়,
নাচে যখন সারি সারি ঢেউ,
হাঁটি তখন বিশাল, ঝিক্মিকে সমুদ্রের তীরে,
তোমার অপেক্ষায়৷ 

শঙ্খচিল যখন পালায় ঝড়ের থেকে,
তখন তীর থেকে ডাকি তোমায়৷
রাতের অন্ধকারে, ঢেউ এর শ্বাসের মাঝে,
শুনি যেন দূরে, তোমার জবাব৷
  
তবে ভাবি তখন, "ওটা কি হাওয়া"?
পাপীর  পীড়ন—নিষ্ঠুর দেবদের শাস্তি এটা!
নাছোড় আমি, চেঁচিয়ে উঠি তাই,
"মানবো না কখনো, তোমাদের দাবি!"

****** 

পিঁপড়ের মত ডাঙায় হেঁটে বেড়ায় মানুষ৷
তারা কি কবেও বুঝবে একে?
এই গভীর, অসীম, অপার মহাসাগর?
এই ধাঁধা-হেঁয়ালি ভরা মহল?
  
ঝড়ের মাঝে গেলে তুমি
এই সাগরের বুকে৷
সাগর যখন শান্ত, তখন
তাও ত দেখি সেটা৷
   
****** 
 
যে কপালে জেতা, সেই কপালেই হার!
কোন পথে যে শান্তি ছিল, দুটি বেলার সুখ,
জানব না গো, জানব না গো,
জানব না গো তা৷
    
এই অকূল, অবিরাম সাগরের তীরে,
পেয়েও, হারিয়েছিলাম তোমায়৷
তাই ত বারবার আসি—রাতে, দিনে৷
ভাবি, তুমি এখন কোথায়?

সন্ধ্যে বেলায় সূর্য় ডোবে,
ভোর বেলাতে ওঠে৷
দুই বেলাতেই, তোমার খোঁজে,
হাঁটি, সাগর তীরে৷
  
সন্ধ্যে ৬:৫৭, সোমবার, ২৯এ জুন
গ্রেভ্সেণ্ড বে, ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
(বাংলায় অনুবাদ, বুধবার, ১লা জুলাই)
--------------------------------------------------------

Directly below is the "machine transcription" (from http://google.com/translate)
of the verses in Bengali script directly above.  A note on this machine transcription has been added at the end of the post.  I have lightly edited the transcription, as described at the start of that note.
--------------------------------------------------------

  

Sāgar Tīrē

Dupurēr rōdēr nīcē, rātēr cām̐dēr ālōẏ,
nācē yakhan sāri sāri ḍhē'u,
hām̐ṭi takhan biśāl, jhikmikē samudrēr tīrē,
tōmār apēkṣāẏ.

Śaṅkhacil yakhan pālāẏ jhaṛēr thēkē,
takhan tīr thēkē ḍāki tōmāẏ.
Rātēr andhakārē, ḍhē'u ēr śbāsēr mājhē,
Śuni yēna dūrē, tōmār jabāb.

Tabē bhābi takhan, "Ōṭā ki hā'ōẏā"?
Pāpīr pīṛan—niṣṭhur dēbdēr śāsti ēṭā!
Nāchōṛ āmi, cēm̐ciẏē uṭhi tā'i,
"mānbō nā kakhanō, tōmādēr dābi!"

******

Pim̐pṛēr mata ḍāṅāẏ hēm̐ṭē bēṛāẏ mānuṣ.
Tārā ki kabē'ō bujhbē ēkē?
Ē'i gabhīr, asīm, apār mahāsāgar?
Ē'i dhām̐dhā-hēm̐ẏāli bharā mahal?

Jhaṛēr mājhē gēlē tumi
ē'i sāgarēr bukē.
Sāgar yakhan śānta, takhan
tā'ō ta dēkhi sēṭā.

  

******
    
Yē kapālē jētā, sē'i kapālē'i hār!
Kōn pathē yē śānti chila, duṭi bēlār sukh,
jānba nā gō, jānba nā gō,
jānba nā gō tā.

Ē'i akūl, abirām sāgarēr tīrē,
pēẏē'ō, hāriẏēchilām tōmāẏ.
Tā'i ta bārbār āsi—rātē, dinē.
Bhābi, tumi ēkhan kōthāẏ?

Sandhyē bēlāẏ sūrẏa ḍōbē,
bhōr bēlātē ōṭhē.
Du'i bēlātē'i, tōmār khōm̐jē,
hām̐ṭi, sāgar tīrē.

Sandhyē 6:57, Sōmbār, 29ē Jun
Grēbhsēṇḍ Bē, Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
(Bānlāẏ anubād, Budhbār, 1lā Julā'i)
--------------------------------------------------------

Note on the "Machine Transcription"

I have lightly edited the machine transcription above, provided by the program on the server  at http://google.com/translate.  I have done this mainly to delete the unnecessary short a's that should not be pronounced and to include periods and capitalization that were missed by the transcription program.

Note that the remaining short a's in this machine transcription are pronounced as a rounded vowel, intermediate in length between the vowels in standard (British) English "ball" and "pot".  In certain cases, it is rounded further and sounds like the o in English "rose" (without the diphthong and having a somewhat shorter duration). The long ā (which has a bar on top in this transcription) is pronounced like the vowel in standard (British or U.S.)  English "far", but with less duration.

Although the traditional Bengali spelling (and so also the machine transcription) makes distinctions between short and long versions of the vowels i and u, these distinctions are no longer audible in standard spoken Bengali.  Hindi-Urdu and most other Indic (Indo-Aryan) languages do preserve these distinctions of vowel-length (duration), some of which go back at least to the Sanskrit, if not earlier.

With the above reservations in mind for the short a and for the loss of distinction between long and short forms of i and u, the letters ā, e, i, o and u represent, in this transcription, the same vowel sounds that they do in standard Italian and Spanish.  The letters e and o are usually written, in this transcription, as their long forms, ē and ō.  Although their lengths would sound closer to long than short to an English ear, Bengali, like most Indic languages (but unlike Dravidian ones) does not distinguish between long and short forms of these two vowels.

There is also a vowel sound in Bengali that is the unrounded partner of the rounded open vowel represented by the short a.  This is like the vowel sounds in standard English "cat" and standard U.S. English "fast", being intermediate in length between the two.  However, as this vowel sound was absent in Sanskrit and might be a fairly recent development in Bengali, there is no letter in the traditional alphabet for it.

So this vowel is usually represented (inaccurately) either by an e or, for historical reasons having to do with changes in the pronunciation of Sanskrit words, by one other means involving an a or an ā followed by a special joined form of the ẏ. (See below for ẏ.)  So the machine transcription, following the traditional spelling, also does not indicate this sound properly.

(In my own Romanization scheme, I use e` to represent this sound, and o` to represent its rounded partner.)

Most of the consonant letters have the values that they most commonly have in English. But note that c has the sound represented by the (unaspirated) ch cluster of English "chum".

The letter h, when it follows a consonant, indicates aspiration--an added puff of air.

  

One should also note that, while the machine transcription displays all three forms (ś, ṣ and s) of the unvoiced sibilant consonant, all of these usually have the same sound in standard spoken Bengali, This is close to the sound of the English cluster sh, with the exceptions being when s precedes a dental t, th or n, or when s or ś precede the simple r.  In these cases, s and ś have the sound that s has in English "sell".  Examples of this can be heard in stiti, sthān, snān, srot and śri.

The circumflex forms of the dentals t, th, d, dh, n and of the basic r are indicated, in the machine transcription, by a dot below the letter: ṭ, ṭh, ḍ, ḍh, ṇ and ṛ.  However, in standard Bengali, these are all pronounced more by the tongue tip touching the upper gum ridge, as in English, than in the true circumflex way that prevails in much of the rest of the subcontinent. This is especially true in most of East Bengal, which is now Bangladesh.

This gives spoken Bengali (especially that of East Bengal) and Ahomiya, to some ears, a "softer" sound than their distant cousins to the west, such as Hindi, Marathi, Gujerati and Punjabi, and also their closer cousin, Oriya, all of which, like the Dravidian languages, make sharper distinctions between circumflex and dental stops, pronouncing the former very strongly.

The nasal is represented in the machine transcription, below, by m̐.  This symbol indicates that the preceding vowel should be nasalized.  In standard spoken Bengali, the nasalization is faint.

(In my own Romanization,  located above, between the English original and the translation in the traditional Bengali script, I have indicated nasalization with a tilde, ~, following the vowel to be nasalized.)

The n with a dot above (ṅ) usually stands for the ng sound in English "singer, song, lungs" (but at times, and almost always in the East Bengal variant of the standard pronunciation, for its sound in English "finger, anger").

For those not familiar with certain historical issues in Bengali spelling, one should point out that the Sanskrit y is pronounced, in Bengali, as is j, both having the sound of the first consonant in English "jam".  The Sanskrit w, which has migrated, in many Indic languages, into v, has changed, in Bengali and some other eastern Indic languages, into b. This w turned b is no longer pronounced when it follows a sibilant.  So śbās is pronounced as "shahsh" would be in English.

The y with a dot on top (ẏ) represents cases where the change to j has not taken place (usually between vowels) or is used with a vowel to indicate certain diphthongs.  In either of these situations, this ẏ is usually sounded as a short e (as in English "net").

There are a host of other things that could be discussed, including the "vowel harmony", especially evident in the central and western dialects of Bengali.  This can strongly alter the pronunciation of a vowel, because of the presence of a succeeding vowel (even when this second vowel has now vanished, due to contractions that have occurred in the past). This is only imperfectly represented in the spelling.  But I will stop here.
    

Aa~su Bahaanewaale—आँसू बहानेवाले—آنسو بهانےوالے —Those Who Shed Tears

 
This is in Hindustani (Hindi-Urdu), in the Devanagari and Urdu (modified Perso-Arabic) scripts.  In writing both of these versions, I was greatly aided by the script and translation facilities at http://google.com/translate.

A translation into English is at the end (just before the note on my Romanization).

I would welcome suggestions and corrections, especially in verb endings and in the possessives ka/ki/ke, but also in whatever else is noticed.  My Hindi is very weak, to put it mildly, and my Urdu is no better.  My apologies for venturing where I perhaps should not.

As for Romanization, I have included, first,  the machine output, also kindly provided by http://google.com/translate. The Roman transcription is between the Devanagari and Urdu pieces.

 The only (almost unavoidable) fault I found with Google's machine transcription was that it included the short "a" (without the bar on top that lengthens vowels) where it is no longer pronounced (or, in the case of  some loan words from Arabic and Farsi, never was).  This is the schwa vowel (as in standard British English "but" and "fur") that is so frequent in the languages of northern Europe, and in those of the subcontinent*.

I have edited the machine transcription to delete the unneeded short "a" letters. I have also changed "v" to "w" in some words.

Following this standard academic Romanization provided by Google (and lightly edited by me as explained above),  I have also included also my own Romanization, which follows a scheme similar to that which I have been using for Bengali.  (See the note added at the end of the post.)

* The schwa vowel is absent in standard Italian and Spanish, and also in the Indic languages of eastern India. In the latter, it has been replaced by one or the other of the two distinct rounded vowels (disregarding length and dipthongization) that are represented, in standard British English, by the Roman letter o.  
----------------------------------
 
आँसू बहानेवाले
 
अमरीका मे एक शहर की
सड़क पर चलते हुए,
मैं एक आदमी से मिला था,
जिनके साथ मेरी पहले
कुछ पह्चान थी।
 
मैंने उनसे पुछा,
"बहुत दिन के बाद मुलाक़ात हुई।
आप कहीं गये थे, क्या?"

उन्होने जवाब दिया,
"हाँ, मैं कुछ महीने के लिए
वहाँ लौटा था,
जहाँ अभी तक
हमारे लिए
आँसू बहानेवाले हैं।"
 
रविवार, २८ जून, 
ब्रुक्लिन, निउ यॉर्क

----------------------------------

Ām̐sū Bahānēwālē

Amrīkā mē ēk śahar kī
saṛak par caltē hu'ē,
maiṁ ēk ādmī sē milā thā,
jinkē sāth mērī pahalē
kuch pahcān thī.

Mainnē unsē puchā,
"Bahut din kē bād mulāqāt hu'ī.
Āp kahīṁ gayē thē, kyā?"

Unhōnē jawāb diyā,
"Hām̐, maiṁ kuch mahīnē kē li'ē
wahām̐ lauṭā thā,
jahām̐ abhī tak
hamārē li'ē
ām̐sū bahānēwālē haiṁ."

Ravivār, 28 Jūn, 
Bruklin, Ni'u Yŏrk 

----------------------------------

Aa~su Bahaanewale

Amriika me ek s'ahar ki
sar'ak par calte hu-e,
me`~ ek aadmi se mila tha,
jinke saath meri pehle
kuch pehcaan thi.

Me`~ne unse pucha,
"Bahut din ke baad mulaaqaat hui.
Aap kahii~ gaye the, kya?"

 Unhone jawaab diya,
"Haa~, me`~ kuch mahiine ke lie
waha~ lo`t'a tha,
jaha~ abhi tak
hamare lie
aa~su bahaane waale he`~.

Ravivaar/Itvaar, 28 Jun

Bruklin, Niu Yo`rk
----------------------------------

آنسو بهانےوالے

امریکہ میں ایک شہر کی
،سڑک پر چلتے ہوئے
،میں ایک آدمی سے ملا تھا
جن کے ساتھ میری پہلے
.کچھ پهچان تھی

،میں نے ان سے پوچھا
.بہت دن کے بعد ملاقات ہوئی"
"آپ کہیں گئے تھے، کیا؟ 

انہوں نے جواب دیا
جی ہاں، میں کچھ ماہ کے لئے"
،وہاں لوٹا تھا
جہاں ابھی تک
ہمارے لئے
".آنسو بهانےوالے ہیں
  
اتوار، ۲۸ جون
بركلن، نیویارک

----------------------------------
   

Those Who Shed Their Tears
   
While walking on the streets
of a city in the U.S.A.,
I met a person whom I’d known 
for quite a while.
   
I said, “I haven’t seen you for so long!
Were you out of town?”
  
“Yes.” he said, “For a few months,
I had returned to where
there still are those,
who shed their tears for us.”
  
Sunday, June 28th,
Brooklyn, New York
---------------------------------

Note on my Romanization for Hindi-Urdu

The letters for the consonants represent the sounds they most commonly do in English, except that c stands for the (unaspirated) ch cluster in English, and that t and d are dentals, pronounced while touching the tip of the tongue to the back of the front teeth, as in most of the Latin languages, while t,' and d' are circumflex, pronounced by curling the tongue up and and back and so that the back of the tongue-tip touches the roof of the mouth, in the region of the hard palate. Note the use of the apostrophe (') to indicate the circumflex form of a consonant.

A similar distinction holds for n and n', r and r', and s and s', except that the tongue's contact area for the first sound in each pair is more the (upper) gum ridge than the back of the front teeth.

The letter h is used to add aspiration (a puff of air) to a consonant, as in the second member of the pairs k, kh,   g, gh,   c, ch,   j, jh,   t, th,   d, dh,   t', t'h,   d', d'h  and   r', r'h.  

The vowels a, e, i, o, u are pronounced as in Italian and Spanish, except that a stands for the schwa vowel that is absent in those languages, while the long form, aa,  is pronounced as a long a would be in those tongues. The long forms of i and u are indicated by doubling: ii and uu.

The e and o have only one (phonemic) version, which, for those coming from languages that make a distinction, is usually closer to long than it is to short.

If a word ends in a long vowel, however, the length of the vowel is often shortened, especially in frequently occurring monosyllabic words, such as ka/ki/ke, which are used to indicate relations between words, and in common verb-endings.  So I have used the short forms a and i  instead of the long forms aa and ii in such cases. The terminal a, however, is not a shwa, but rather a clear short a.

Each vowel in a dipthong should be pronounced clearly. The dipthongs ai and au, however, seem to have been changing into ae and ao, and thence into the single open vowels e` and  o` (as in English tram and ball). So I have used e` ad o` for these.

The tilde (~) after a vowel indicates nasalization of the vowel.  In Hindu-Urdu, this nasalization is usually stronger than in standard Bengali.
   

Phirechi Abar—ফিরেছি আবার—Returned Again

 
Because of end-of-term pressures from my job,  I could not do my usual transcription into Roman letters and the translation into English.  I have included Google's machine transcription and translation, available at http://google.com/translate.

Google's machine transcription faithfully reproduces the traditional Bengali spelling. This could help speakers of other Indo-Aryan languages decipher the content. It might also help those with some knowledge of Sanskrit.

The transcription might, however, cause readers not familiar with Bengali to mispronounce the words. This could still result in a sort of archaic, vowel-rich pronunciation that is musical and enjoyable. 
   
Note added (2015-07-12):  I have now lightly edited Google's "machine transcription" to remove the unnecessary short a's. These have long ceased to be pronounced.  In this piece, these not-pronounced short a's were almost all at the ends of words. 

I also had to add one short a, within a word (the second a in baẏas). 
  
Note that all short a's should, in this transcription, be pronounced as a rounded vowel, intermediate in  duration between the standard British pronunciations of the vowels in the words "pot" and "fall".  
  
Some other points on pronunciation should be borne in mind for this transcription scheme.  One of these is the merging, in standard spoken Bengali, of the three unvoiced sibilant sounds (the letters for which, ś, ṣ and s, are still preserved in the spelling) into what is usually represented by the sh cluster in English spelling.   
  
Please see the "Note on the Machine Transcription" at the very end of the post at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2015/07/beside-seaxagor-tire-sagar-tire.html .
  
To conform to standard English usage, I have also added capitalization to proper names, and (where preceding periods had been left out by the machine transcription) at the start of sentences.

Turning next to Google's machine translation—it is far from the best, being often hilariously off.  But it will have to do for now.

With apologies,

Arjun

----------------------------------------------------

ফিরেছি আবার
  
বলেছিলে যা, চোখের ইশারায়,
সেটা সত্যি কি না মিথ্যে,
জানি না, জানি না, তবুও
রয়েছে জানবার ইচ্ছে৷
  
******
    
কতদিন, কত বছর ধরে, তোমাকে
দেখেছি দূর থেকে৷
কত চাহন, কত সুখের আশা
রয়ে গেছে এই বুকে৷
  
মাঝে মাঝে ক্ষনিকের মিলন,
হঠাৎ নিকটে দেখা৷
যা বলার ছিল, হয় নি বলা,
নিমেষের চোখাচোখি ছারা৷
  
দেখেছ কি তখন, চোখের ঝিলিকে,
পুরোনো প্রেমের আগুন?
মনে হয়েছে, আঁখির লোকানো ভাষায়,
তুমিও বলেছ কিছু৷
          
বয়্স বেড়েছে৷ প্রেমের সময়
মনে হয় কেটে গেছে কবে৷
তবুও দেখা হলে, মনে পড়ে আবার
প্রথম দেখা হয়েছিল যবে৷

****** 
  
শহর ছেড়ে, গিয়েছিলাম দূরে৷
ভেবেছিলাম, পাবো ক্ষমা৷
পাই নি, পাই নি৷ ভুলি নি তোমাকে,
চিরকালের প্রিয়তমা৷
   
তুমি আর আমি হেঁটেছি পাসে,
সপ্নর জগতে শুধু৷
হেসেছি সেখানে তোমার সঙ্গে,
চেখেছি প্রেমের মধু৷

সপ্ন কবে যে বাস্তব হবে,
জানি না, জানি না, হায়!
তোমার খোঁজে, এসেছি আবার
সপ্ন যেখানে যায়৷
   
কতদিন, কত বছর ধরে,
দেখেছি তোমাকে দূরে৷
ফিরেছি আবার, পুরোনো মহলে,
দূর দিগন্ত ঘুরে৷

******  
  
বলেছিলে যা, চোখের ইঙ্গিতে,
সেটা সত্যি কি না মিথ্যে,
জানি না, জানি না, তবুও
রয়েছে জানবার ইচ্ছে৷ 
  
সকাল ১০:২৩, শনিবার ৬ জুন, ২০১৫ খ্রি
বেন্সন্হার্স্ট, ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক 

----------------------------------------------------

Phirēchi  Ābār

Balēchilē yā, cōkhēr iśārāẏ,
sēṭā satyi ki nā mithyē,
jāni nā, jāni nā, tabu'ō
raẏēchē jānbār icchē.

******

Katadin, kata bachar dharē, tōmākē
dēkhēchi dūr thēkē.
Kata cāhan, kata sukhēr āśā
raẏē gēchē ē'i bukē.

Mājhē mājhē kṣanikēr milan,
haṭhāṯ nikaṭē dēkhā.
Yā balār chila, haẏē ni balā,
nimēṣēr cōkhācōkhi chārā.

Dēkhēcha ki takhan, cōkhēr jhilikē,
purōnō prēmēr āgun?
Manē haẏēchē, ām̐khir lōkānō bhāṣāẏ,
tumi'ō balēcha kichu.
   
Baẏas bēṛēchē.  Prēmēr samaẏ
manē haẏ kēṭē gēchē kabē.
Tabu'ō dēkhā halē, manē paṛē ābār
pratham dēkhā haẏēchila yabē.
 
******
 
Śahar chēṛē, giẏēchilām dūrē.
Bhēbēchilām, pābō kṣamā.
Pā'i ni, pā'i ni.  Bhuli ni tōmākē,
cirakālēr priẏatamā.
 
Tumi ār āmi hēm̐ṭēchi pāsē,
sapnar jagatē śudhu.
Hēsēchi sēkhānē tōmār saṅgē,
cēkhēchi prēmēr madhu.

Sapna kabē yē bāstab habē,
jāni nā, jāni nā, hāẏ!
Tōmār khōm̐jē, ēsēchi ābār
sapna yēkhānē yāẏ.
 
Katadin, kata bachar dharē,
dēkhēchi tōmākē dūrē.
Phirēchi ābār, purōnō mahalē,
dūr diganta ghurē.

*******
 
Balēchilē yā, cōkhēr iṅgitē,
sēṭā satyi ki nā mithyē,
jāni nā, jāni nā, tabu'ō
raẏēchē jānbār icchē.

Sakāl 10:23, Śanibār 6 Jun, 2015 Khri
Bēnsanhārsṭ, Bruklin, Ni'uẏark

----------------------------------------------------

Returned again

That said, the eyes of the hinting,
What is true is false,
I do not know, I do not know, but
There is the desire to know.

*******

How long, how many years, you
Seen from a distance.
Desiring much, much happiness hope
The chest remained.

Sometimes momentarily reconciled,
Suddenly appeared near.
That is to say, not to say,
Referred without moments.

What he saw, the eye jhilike,
Love the old fire?
It seems, hidden in the eye,
You said something.
       
Increased age. Love Time
When it is cut.
Yet when you meet, remember again
Can first met.

*******
 
Out of the city, and went away.
When I was forgiven.
I did not, could not. I have not forgotten,
Love forever.
 
I walked close to you,
Only in the world of dreams.
Laughed with you there,
Cekhechi love honey.

When will that dream real,
I do not know, I do not know, alas!
Your looks, come again
Where dreams are.
 
How long, how many years,
I have seen far away.
Returned again, the old quarters,
Around the horizon.

******
 
That said, a hint of the eyes,
What is true is false,
I do not know, I do not know, but
There is the desire to know.

10:23 morning, Saturday, June 6, 2015
Bensanharst, Bruklin, New York