আমি এক যাযাবর / I am a wanderer

I am a wanderer

A wanderer am I.

The world has gathered me to itself

And I have forgotten where I came from

I am a wanderer

A wanderer am I.

I have travelled from the Ganga to the Mississippi

And seen the beauty of the Volga

I have walked from Ottawa to Austria

And trod the dust of Paris

I have taken the colours of the paintings of Ellora

And spread them across Chicago

I have heard the poems of Ghalib

Sitting among the minarets of Tashkent

I have kept vigil at Mark Twain’s grave

As I spoke of Gorky’s magic

The road has called me again and again

To make it my home

That is why I am a wanderer

That is why I am a wanderer.

I have many an aimless plan

That I wish to fulfill one day

Wherever I saw colours

I made sure they coloured my mind

I have seen many a skyscraper

That nearly grazed the sky

In their shade I have seen

People who had nowhere to go

I have seen roses and mimosa

Blooming in gardens fit for kings

I have also seen buds that wilted before their time

And fell neglected upon the dust

Loveless attachments across the earth

Destroy homes that should have been happy

The people of the street became my own

When my own flesh and blood gave me up

That is why I am a wanderer

A wanderer am I.

Follow the link to listen to Dr Bhupen Hazarika: 

http://youtu.be/T8fvs6wa69I

নারী, সুনীল বন্দ্যোপাধ্যায়/Nari, Sunil Gangopadhyay

Atheists do not believe in you, Woman
Your hair hanging down like a slash of ink,
You are an enemy of revolution.
In fact you are invisible to many eyes,
Some have not even heard of your name.
Just like watery light mixed with water.
They know lovers or sisters,
Mothers or wives,
The girl at the milk vendor or those
that sing and dance,
and sweat in the kitchen.
Interrupt with a skeletal hand in traffic, child on hip.
They go to schools in pain wearing frocks or a sari perhaps
Or mix tears with cement by the side of a mason.
Gathering donations in a tin,
Or taking lunch to a farmer under an angry sun.
Perhaps sleep in the afternoons
novels near their pillows.
These are the ones who are doing fine.
Everyone knows them in bed, their bodies
In sickness and in health,
as temporary companions.
But Woman? Where is she?
The one celebrated by degenerate poets
for forty centuries.
Where is she? Where is she?
Her hair hanging down like a slash of ink
where does she stand today?
How do you stay hidden in this crowd
Just like watery light mixed with water....

NARI
Sunil Gangopadyay

When You Call Me by Helal Hafiz/তুমি ডাক দিলে, হেলাল হাফিজ

WHEN YOU CALL ME

Call me once and see how depleted I am

What frantic need I have felt all my life.

When you call me

I will erase every trace of sadness and rot.

I will get there faster than the speed of sound

I will tap the source of the love that has been nurtured for so long.

I will not waste a minute on the way

When you call me

I will transform a desert without borders into a green oasis.

When you say yes,

I will make us a sanctuary with our twin happiness.

When I receive your invitation

I will leave behind everything

And fly towards you unrestrained.

If you agree to give me shelter

I will leave all these people behind

I will be a bird till I die – your silence all I need to live on.

                                                                 by Helal Hafiz