Aminur Rahman


The Sculpture

From the mist’s dense cape I carve your body’s shape -- gently sculpting, all morning. With my eyes shut, I sit amid the fog’s heavy sheets as its frost settles on my cheek, ear, and nose. The same hands, the same lips, the same eyes -- I find them with such ease -- Your torso floats on that river; I shall conquer its flow. Your figure blossoms, freeing itself, leaving behind sun’s light and fog’s ephemeral body. You’re entwined with my soul -- its root, plinth, and depth. Translated by Sudeep Sen

Kill Me

Kill me with your dedicated heart. Reduce me to smithereens through your act of sex. Murder me with madman’s madness. Burn me in your heart. Kill me through your creativity. Annihilate me with the wet-foam of sex. Destroy me with your erogenous zones. Tear me apart with your love. Bite me bite my crotch. Embrace me in my death’s ecstasy. Translated by Sudeep Sen

Solitary Dependence

Very little, can hurt me these days, my grief’s address lives on forever. My solitary dependence awakens at midnight, I feel the cold under my feet; my eyes, wide open, sees the endless expanse encompassing a courtyard-space of existence, just your shadow. Who are you? Who are you? Sometimes you feel familiar, at other times, unfamiliar. Sometimes the play-of-light lives in you, other times, only pre-dawn’s darkness. Sometimes you seem so simple, at other times, full of doubt. Sometimes you seem to be in this world, other times, in some other. Sometimes you are child-like, at other times, just endlessly silent. Who are you? Who are you? The night trembles, the heart flutters like leaves whispering to the breeze. The waves stir on the placid river, the fish are motionless, and the stars weave dreams. Who are you? Who are you? Engulfed in a soundless world, I sit alone as the ruddy-night bleeds away. Another night arrives, moves, moves on, turns back to whisper its suicidal urges. Who are you? Who are you? Very little, can hurt me these days, my grief’s address lives on forever. Translated by Sudeep Sen


Little by little, everything is crumbling -- bricks, stones, my heart too is crumbling. Even though there has been no slack in applying enough plaster -- red, blue, green, yellow -- whatever colour we get, we mix. They do not always mix, yet we keep trying. I want to keep breathing and lie on the river’s breast, live by seeing the sky’s blue, keep alive by smelling the flower’s scent. Nevertheless, the confusion carries on. The plaster peels off -- bricks, stones, and my heart. This is the way I walk, talk, live, and sometimes even die. Nobody knows that, nobody understands. Does the river understand, or the sky? Does the sky understand? Does the flower understand? Do they really understand everything? Or just console themselves in confusion? Life and life’s realisation -- what’s the relation? Living and stagnation -- what’s the relation? Human beings and monkeys -- what’s the relation? Liking and loving -- what’s the relation? Little by little, everything is crumbling -- bricks, stones, my heart too is crumbling. Translated by Sudeep Sen

Self-willed exile

I longed to sit side by side till eternity You and I were traveling together With luggage of dream Wandering along I felt like touching your hand You said “you will not touch me” With mesmerized eyes I glanced at your exquisite lips You said “turn aside your look” These so many days rolled into a year or more Poetry has remained banished from me Or I have led an ostracized life from poetry I am taking food, walking along and talking to you Tell me correctly am I really in exile Or totally steeped in the realm of poesy- May be I have scarcely written a line of verse All these days But I dwell in the abode of poesy My address is still the same old - Stand of unfathomable ocean of poetry Where windy doors remain open Where joy of bliss trickles down from green leaves Where water birds descend from clouds I live there And dwell in depths deeper than dream Where it is possible to be in communion with soul I live there I shall remain there till eternity Let that life be a life of exile from poetry. Translated by A Z M Haider


I am a demented and distracted child of time Spontaneity and transparency do not mark fruition of dream Dream deception has spread out Its incomparable hand Untiring harmony of suicide Ceaseless rapture of artistic endeavour Infernal somersault characterize Every pore of soul Minimum soundness of health is plagued Gradually fountain longed for is losing Translated by A Z M Haider


I hear the jingle of chains and lose myself continuously in the never ending clinking Intense pungency of old tobacco makes me dizzy Again euphoria touches my soul. I hear the jingle of chains and feel invisible through my heart and soul I humble myself like many I crave to rise above the darkness But again lose myself into a deep unconsciousness I hear the jingle of chains I look for them amidst the clattering Brace myself to face them they hit me with larger vigour feel the breath through the backbone I hear the jingle of chains I see myself reflected in the faces covered with bloody coffin In the pebbles hidden by earth and I tremble with fear And collapse while retreating words approaches me as a shackle And fasten my two hands clattering of the chain goes and goes into a gradual wane. I hear the jingle of chains!! Translated by M S A Sarwar