Poems by Kamrul Islam
My Dear Dreams
My dreams have lost their mother tongue,
and the words they used in crises.
They are now a vast expanse
of dried up ocean in the hallowed ground of eyes.
My dreams have forgotten perhaps
the tender dewy youth and euphoric
furrows of land, the cottage of the girl
whose farmer father’s in a great flight
to share the anguish of a devastated shades,
the fragrance of trembling lips
fly alone in the air.
The crimson sky brings a new message :
only through loving the streets deep into the soul,
the dreams would get back the lost colours
and the greenish breath be featured
in the vibrant cultural
Leaves of trees of a new world.
My dear dreams, touch the concealed divinity
that smiles in the broken memories,
in the cryptic language of beauty enraptured by silence,
though the night doesn’t promise the sleep
still without separation…
The Old Lamp Of Eternal Bliss
The rain came down with the technique
of playing jhumjhumi in the darkness
of the weeds,
The mind became entangled in the magic
of the clouds,
Pushing aside the lawlessness of the theorem
born in the womb of water and air
the dozing of leaves without bondage
chasing after the fears of unknown ghosts.
The bloods of wounded dreams
from the teenage mood of tunes
bring my shades to the ascetic dew.
Houses hidden in weeds
avoiding the time of fog
running in the shadow of the mortal world–
The clouds weave the immortal honesty
of this mother earth and the cleavage of mosoon
melts into golden gossips and ignite
the old lamp of eternal bliss…