Abdullah Rayhan

The question here should be: Why does the nationality of the poet matter if the sentiment and emotional dimensions are the central focus that keeps the dynamic of a national anthem active?

The recent attack on “Amar Shonar Bangla” stems from this type of attempt to categorise the national anthem, leading to further allegations against it

You called me close in the moments of grace/ Veiling my delicate senses

Ratan Da walked away, waddling the way he came from, whispering, “Don’t let it go to waste, don’t let it go to waste.”

Bibhuti Babu’s pen tenderly reveals the nudity of apparently disturbing feelings and emotions that we are so ashamed and afraid to accept and express.

His words convince the listener that the world is actually a beautiful place where truth, honesty, and simplicity are the quenching clouds above a desolate desert of dry despair and monotony.

Truth and beauty reign supreme in the domain of mirth, in the realm of ecstasy. Thy glory resounds within the vast heaven, And the entire world lay at thy gem-bedecked pes. The stars, planets, sun, and the moon are impetuously

Suddenly, the shadow became larger on the wall. At that exact moment, something felt heavy on Farid’s chest–and got heavier by the minute. Everything was still, and in that silence, a silhouette slowly grew over Farid’s  body. 

The pleasing melancholia of Friday morning hovers through the window as a heavy gloom and sways within the fake plastic daisies lying on Marium’s table while the smell of burning spices filled her entire house. Marium’s mother couldn’t care less about the condition of the kitchen now. Her husband has just collapsed to the floor.  

There's something more to it that trammeled his existence, and he wanted to escape the suffocation.

The dance of the tongue is just as beautiful as the word itself. Effulgent wind, effulgent rain of twilight moon, effulgent sky.

The difficulty of translation is one of the reasons why Nazrul is not discussed as extensively as Tagore in the west.

Dickinson shows that mellifluousness of language is what gives a heightened attribute to the essence of a poesy.

Remembering Camus on his 109th birthday.

At the first roar of the clouds, Selim opened his eyes, bloodshot, drowsy and warm like a smoking candle. He stared deep into the abyss swirling before him. In his ears, the moans of the distant sky rang damply, as if the sound came from beneath a heavy blanket.

Drowned paddy fields look beautiful throughout the day. In the morning, when there is a rough wind, the flooded rice plants dance in the reflection of drenched sunlight.

A damp siren screamed at the rushing wind. Black and thick smoky clouds slowly clotted in a grey sky, as if preparing for some kind of a ritual.

Listening to summer breeze, smelling the raw pages of an old book my mind went wandering into the sea of nonexistent dreams. I drifted there like a lost sailor. And I hunted for a thousand-year old pale blue star.

A black serene path leading to a universe set at the end of a never-ending horizon. Paces and paces of thousand footsteps sounding like the ticking of a wall clock in the middle of the night. Tik…tik...tik…tik…tik…tik

They have given me a grilled piece of chicken and a naan with the face of moon on a plate. The grilled chicken leg is brown with sides turned to dark coal. Grains of burnt spices glaze the piece.