At the beginning of winter,
On a foggy night
A flock of migratory birds-
Flapping feathers on clouds!
Prof. Dr. Sultan Muhammad Razzak, an eminent poet from Bangladesh, shares his poetry
Prof. Dr. Sultan Muhammad Razzak (Ph.D., Lit. D, KNIGHT) born 1959 in Bangladesh is a well-known cultural thinker and an advocate for UNESCO cultural conventions- 2005 in Bangladesh. He holds a Master’s degree in Bengali literature from the University of Dhaka. He also completed two academic doctorates in development through Mass Media and d’Animador of UNESCO. He was also awarded with KNIGHT Title from an Imperial-Majesty and is titled as ‘Shaer- E- Gulistan’ (Poet of the garden) by the readers. He has carried out more than 20 research projects including observation of the cultural and tribal life of the Chittagong Hill Tract and cross-border regions. He has made a great contribution to the Village Theatre movement all over the country organized 200 organizations and used cultural motivation for a healthy life, gender issues, Communal Harmony, and peace in support of different UN organizations. He is the founder, President, and vice-chancellor of the International Culture University (ICU). He is an author, playwright, Director, Poet, Lyricist, Actor, Storyteller, Contemporary Academician, and Translator. His works have been recognized and admired with awards at national and international levels—the number of his publications is 40.
All book links:
https://archive.org/details/@sultanmuhammadrazzak
Migratory birds
At the beginning of winter,
On a foggy night
A flock of migratory birds-
Flapping feathers on clouds!
Then I sat on the porch- sleepless;
The belly flowers’ scent was sung around.
I didn’t know where they are flying to,
From the Northern Hemisphere to the South-
Or from South to North!
I knew,
They maintained the arrowhead in a pattern,
While they were flying together;
And one was a young bird leading the row,
With rhythmic melody,
And the other birds were singing,
The same tune-
Wings of them were flapping the beat.
I was feeling deeply,
Like one of them in the middle row-
I was also a migratory bird like them!
The moon of my youth has fallen,
The sun has deemed of mine!
Once, I was also the arrow point,
And lead a flock of birds.
Alas!
The storm of muscles weakened,
Like thin air which is not enough-
To keep floating of a dead fallen leaf!
I hear the sound of the flapping of birds,
The flocks cackling;
The of my feathers went out one by one,
Leave in me only the desire of flying.
***
Missing
I am surprised too,
How it could happen!
In the darkness,
Where sunburned a few lines,
Missing in the night.
You kept there some melodic songs,
Every night I remembered all of those.
Missing…all…
On the sandy sea shore,
My lonely afternoon,
Become wet by the tides,
And footprints have relinquished,
By the tongue by blue water…
Yes, the dark blue water,
My moon mingled with waves,
Along with my emotional lines,
Melodic tunes of yours…
Even I-
Missing like you!
In my eyes…
In my lonely darkness!
***
Mistake
In front of the raw clay tablets,
With a Kilok stick,
I sat down to write a letter.
Yes, to you!
I have written three words first-
Without any greeting
The moon of the evening sky has written my shadow
In the Sumerian valley-
Then there is a storm millions of papyrus leaves
Where I was sunk within!
My shadow gets smaller,
Then with a stone cutter and hammer,
I engraved hieroglyphics on a stone tab,
That mistake again!
I wrote just three words!
Without any greeting or salutation,
But yes, I wrote you!
The moon went over my head,
My shadow is getting smaller and smaller,
Sandstorm at midnight-
Dust of silica was floating in the air
The Egyptian valley was like a piece of
White paper-
I dipped my pen in the Nile River next to it,
I wrote on white paper again in the moonlight-
Ah!
That mistake again!
Didn’t write any greetings!
I wrote only those three words-
Yes, it was for you!
At the end of the night,
My shadow is disappearing into the eastern horizon,
And a calm environment!
Then I don’t have a pen
There is a sea of ink
The pen has gone!
The sky is full of my hands,
How many stars have written!
I am writing a letter again-
Alas, I made the same mistake
Only three words
Without greetings!
__________________________
Read: An Elegy of Fallen Leaves – Poetry from Bangladesh
