![An Elegy of Fallen Leaves – Poetry from Bangladesh An Elegy of Fallen Leaves – Poetry from Bangladesh](https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/gomti-river-in-comilla-wallpaper-preview.jpg)
I am writing a dirge of fallen leaves. While penning it, I become speechless.
Nurul Hoque, a poet, rhymer, novelist, and editor, from Bangladesh, shares his poems.
Nurul Hoque is a poet, time-conscious rhymer, novelist, and editor. His acquaintance with literature is quite wide. He is skilled at composing poetry, rhymes, stories, and songs. He has been working as a writer for almost three decades. He is praised globally for his tireless work. He is the executive director of Munir Mezyed Foundation for Arts and Culture, Romania. He edited Odyssey International Anthology of World Poets 2020. He is also the chief coordinator of Odyssey International (headquartered in Romania). Hoque was born at Porikot village of Gunabati Union under Chauddagram upazila in Comilla (formerly Tripura) in Bangladesh. He has written several books, 30 of which are well known in his mother tongue, Bengali. Nowadays, his poetry, famed for its elegance and intimacy, covers a variety of themes, chiefly peace, nature, love, womanhood, and divinity. His writing focuses on the importance of English for a multilingual world society and for inter-cultural communication among nations; the need for value-based education for youth in the context of globalization; and fostering peace, fellow-feeling, awareness of ecology, and love for nature. His educational life was full of diversity. He was sometimes a student, sometimes a ration shop worker, and sometimes a manager. He completed his education amid struggles. Shortly after becoming a Diploma Engineer, he joined an international construction company registered in the United States, as an Assistant Engineer in the Karnafuli Hydroelectric Unit 3 construction project. In 1980, after leaving the job, Hoque became unemployed. During this time, he travelled across Bangladesh. He later served as a Chartered Engineer and Project Director of many important projects. Besides contributing to the first-class daily, monthly, fortnightly, and weekly publications of Bangladesh, he regularly practices literature on various international poetry sites and Bangladesh Television. His poetry has been translated into various languages, including Romanian, Taiwanese, Uzbek, Japanese, Spanish, and Chinese. He is an official member of the World Nations Writers’ Union (headquartered in Kazakhstan), which conferred upon him the International Diploma, The Best Poet-Writer of the World, 2018 (www.wnwu.org). He has received numerous international awards for his special contribution to literature. He is the editor of the monthly magazine Amader Buriganga, which is published from Dhaka almost regularly. He is also the founder chairman of Buriganga Foundation Bangladesh.
AN ELEGY OF FALLEN LEAVES
A wandering wave upstream
A buoyant pull of water downstream
In the middle, there is no one else
Then why do dreams break into pieces?
The grey feathers of time also fall off
What’s the harm if you become a river?
Are women like desiccated, fallen leaves?
They fall aplenty,
Like rivers that change courses and contours,
Lose their flowing pace.
Will you change too?
If you change, then you may do so
The sediment in your abdomen that you have
Accumulated bit by bit,
Will it also exhaust in the end?
No matter if it gets exhausted,
No matter if rivers flow
I am writing a dirge of fallen leaves
While penning it,
I become speechless.
***
THE PORTRAIT, O THE CLOUD
Having portrayed you perfectly
I have spread you across the world
Lest we should never meet each other again.
When I sit down to write a poem
Your portrait springs to life
And sits on my writing table.
From the two eyes of your portrait falls
A yearning of a universe.
It seems like the portrait wants to say something
But when asked, it flaps its wings
Quickly and replies ‘No,
I’m right beside you,
Just keep on writing.
I stand astounded in amazement
I keep on gauging the depth of pain on its chin
And then, as I keep on writing the poem
I realize the vastness of a Mediterranean storm.
These days and all night long, the portrait
Follows me everywhere
And it keeps an eye on me
At times, the chasing portrait
Turns into a cloud and rains down on my downs
And I start to cry.
With a fringe full of pollens in hand
It looks embarrassed with eyes full of dreams.
I say, O the picture,
O the cloud
I no longer like this superhuman game
Take me back to the volcanic rocks in the hill
***
I WANT TO DRAW YOU ANEW
I want to draw you anew
I want to write something new
About you, completely anew
With a conviction of creating a beautiful new world.
I want to gather the light of all the virtuous eyes of the world
I want to cast a glow on you,
Your inner self and outer self.
Let them drift in the waves of light endlessly
Let go of anarchy and darkness for good
Let a corps of pensive poets or artists
Walk along the texture of your tress
From one end to another.
Even though I am not a poet
Yet, day and night,
I Study your form and shape
I gently touch your chin.
I want the people of the world
To discover you anew
Let them see in the shadow of a sacrosanct soul
How hatred and violence blend with it.
To portray you in a few lines
Is well-nigh impossible.
Yet, I continue to carve you
With a chisel of words.
____________________
Prepared by Angela Kosta Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator
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