My Homeland, My Heaven (¯^‡`k
¯^M©)
-Mahmudul Hasan Nizami
What verses I would write for
you?
Here are all the lines of all
the poems
This is my homeland—my Eden
Garden
Everything is here
Ripples of the river here
make musical rhythms
Rain pours down from the
feathers of clouds
The dreams open their wings
with the chirping of the birds
What a noisy assemblage of
birds in the bamboo grove!
The body sweats with the arid
hit of the sun
Dewdrops fall down with
whispering sounds during cold waves
It is here that my beloved
burst with laughter
The cruel joke to Felani also
was made here
The night descends with a
flood of moonlight
Thrilling dreams summon the
eastern wind
This is my homeland—my
heavenly garden—
The garden of my verses
from-bangladesh
cell-0088-01711263550
poet mahmudul hasan
nizami-bangladesh
satellite
(DcMÖn)
-Mahmudul Hasan Nizami
I’m an uncultivated satellite
in this planet of 70 million
human beings
There are clouds in my sky
but not the stars.
There’s a bluish emptiness
but not the moon
There’s the storm, but not
the rain
There’re tumultuous waves
but not the sea
There’re volcanoes in my
satellite
but not a single waterfall
there
Clouds are there
but not the sky
A satellite, completely
desolated from
the planet of the human
beings
There’re forests in my
satellite
but there’re not any tree
Or when there’s a tree
that’s bare of any leaf
O my dear sister-in-law,
will you please tell me
what type of a satellite
is the residence of this poet
Some people make jokes with
this diversity
Holocaust is the name of my
satellite
that’s infested with four
hundred and twenty frauds
I fear the human beings only
from-bangladesh
cell-0088-01711263550
parks of Fire
(Av¸‡bi dzjwK)
-Mahmudul Hasan Nizami
Sparks of fire are in the
rally
Cowards are sleeping
Rapping themselves with a
sheet of fear
The history of my words is in
the rally
The rainbow of my dream is
In the blue courtyard of the
rally
The slogans of my survival
are in the rally
Songs of thunders thrill me
Like blood-red ‘Raktakarabi’
flowers
Festoons of freedom raised in
the procession of youth
Cultivate an exalted chorus
of a new rhythm
Cowards spend their times in
Daydreams and nightmares and
cries incessantly
The women longing for praise
are busy with
Preparing palatable dishes
Yet the vultures in the
border are tearing my flag
The women adorned with
colourful sarees
Look like colourful rainbows
Cowards shut themselves
inside the coffins of fear
The rally of my history is
hidden
Inside the pockets of the
opportunists
The sounds of the rally are
like the flickers of fireflies
Inflames the skins of the
cowards
from-bangladesh
cell-0088-01711263550
poet mahmudul
hasan nizami-from bangladesh -birth-1 feb,1971 eng.sondvip , chittagong ,bangladesh
Letter
(wPwV)
-Mahmudul Hasan Nizami
A nameless letter made me
very listless
A rhythmic letter made me
delighted
A letter made me afraid
deeply
A letter spoke of the beauty
A letter made me free
A letter imprisoned me
A letter taught me to smile
A letter told me to cry
A letter enlightened the
destination of my dream
But the poet can’t understand
the language of any letter
The silly rhythm-maker docks
the ship of an unknown island
in the port of the heart
The poet has no atlas
The nomad poet lives eternally
in the tent of beauty
The yellow envelope brought
by the postman
summons utter ruin for him
Yet he is in an endless hope
of a letter
An SMS spoils all the
meanings of a letter
from-bangladesh
cell-0088-01711263550
Three
o’Clock at Night
(ivZ wZbUv
mvZv‡k)
-Mahmudul Hasan Nizami
The
poem peeps beside my bed at midnight
Moonfaced
she is, like an apple from Kashmir
The
fruit-sellers in the opposite side of Baitul Mokarram
Delight
the balcony of the poet’s heart
With
their satisfaction of making profit
The
stars are invited at the bridal chamber of the moon
In
the venue of the sky
The
poem smiles while the moon and the moonlight honeymoon
The
night wrapped in a dark sheet weeps for her loneliness
The
traveler of this earth is tired unnecessarily
The
trees accompany each other beside the avenue
The
window in the north side is closed
A
handful of wind shakes the portico in the west side
The
drowsiness vanishes with her soft touch
My
beloved is beside my bed
The
dream becomes true three o’clock at night
from-bangladesh
cell-0088-01711263550
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