(Kabedul Islam, born in 1964, is an eminent modern poet, researcher and writer. Also, he is a Rubai-composer. His faculty is multifaceted. The number of his published books is around sixty. His books generally include the books of poems, short stories, articles, rhymes for the children, research-based books and above all the invaluable books relating to land management and land-lexicography. The following five sonnets are chosen from his book of sonnets having 338 in number. He is a widely travelled personality, always wearing jovial mood. He loves reading and collecting books.)
O Lord, Give me that Wise Insight
You asserted rightly—angels do not know
What you know. Of all the creations,
None but man is the best either in the world or in heavens.
Yet man is ungrateful, do not express gratitude.
Rather he commits sins days and nights;
He is over head and ears in hypocritical viciousness.
He is not at all aware of wood-worms making holes
In his marrow and blood. Yet he weaves colourful fantasies,
That would give him bluff on the Doomsday.
Alas! How man is dullard, having no farsightedness!
He feels proud though he beholds countless signs Of Your Majesty.
In fact, he has clear vision, but still he appears blind,
He is a slave to his Instincts and subject to other’s subjugation.
So, O Lord I beseech You—give me that wise insight,
Which is the absolute part of Your Entity—an incomparable creation.
O Bangladesh, I Keep on Loving You only
I have left the house as I deeply desire to walk along the unknown paths.
From north to south, towards east and west—to whatever direction I like
I must pass through to my liking. I shall behold the rivers, paths and
Fields of beautiful Bangla, spellbound; I shall lie down on the earth-ridge
Comfortably and unworried in the golden corn-fields.
Hearing falls of dew-drops all the night long, I do not know
When it will be dawned—golden flash of smile will break on all sides.
It is felt it will ceaselessly scatter the profuse shower of delight.
From Teknaf to Tetulia—wherever when I go,
I shall have my pale body embalmed with bewitching greens.
The faint feel of bath in the deep blue brackish sea water
May last forever. After that if I get the call of death,
I shall embrace it cordially with my head bowed.
O Bangladesh, I keep on loving you only.
Wonderful Water Goose
You are the wonderful water goose in the dream lake—
In the morning sun it is found floating near the landing stage,
A patch of cloud peeps through the minaret of a mosque,
As if someone draws charming scenery across the blue say.
When the artist and his artwork get merged in the dark night,
Only stars remain awake in low melody, stunned.
As if somebody would lead her to an eternal nuptial bed.
Where the moon locked up by night sleeps in the thick veil of mist.
I am also desirous of company of her on such a flight—
Where none surpasses the boundary of the sky,
All the time the white falls on dripping like the hot curd
So much fraudulence, fatigue and weariness of man
Will be effaced out of that and be grouped with the galaxy of stars,
When shady darkness enveloping the earth will come down.
My Rupsha
I have not seen Satadru and Jhelum; nor have I seen Indus and Ganges
Tigris and Euphrates, Nile River, Thames, Volga and Sone,
I have seen Jamuna, Padma, Titas and Buriganga.
They are not rivers, rather my relations, as if mothers, sisters.
Yet I saw the lovely Rupsha, the dear river of my boyhood
And of my youth, flowing ceaselessly with turbid water in her bosom.
She is not as renowned as Karnafully, Garai and Kabodak,
She is only ever resplendent in feeling and consciousness.
She is an agile river—that carries through flow and ebb tide, morn and eve,
The message of the distant sea, smell, taste and a number of shoals of fish.
Besides, kites found flying in the sky, white herons lying in wait in Chars,
The gust of wind drives away the sailing boats and killers like sharks and
Crocodiles are seen. Still today the scene of young naked boys leaping over
The Rupsha water at a resistless upsurge of life flashes across the eyes.
Pangs of Separation
A charming Beauty having shining neck and slim-waist,
The rows of trimmed teeth giving flash of moony smile,
The galaxy of stars as if floating in the azure firmament
Starts for the unknown destination, leaving its native space.
She casts oblique glances with the playful move of eye-brows
And the night trembles; the agile river flows with upsurge of waves,
The heaps of cloud melt by surfing in music poured from her,
This matchless Beauty has as if come down from heaven.
Always burning in the lustre of her charm
I have so much been enthused in her amorous sports,
Exhausting all desires, I have been turned to ashes
Burning in the fire of lust, as if like the fall of Indra.
Yet, the mind of that pristine Beauty does not soften in kindness,
In lieu of it, she has intensified the pangs of separation in heart.
The translator is a poet, writer, researcher and an academician.
Original: Kabedul Islam
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