Hridoyer Bhasha
Language of the heart
by Wali Mahmud
Published by Megh Prokashan, Bangladesh
First Edition: Ekushey Book Fair 2023.
©
Wali Mahmud
Dewan Villa
Matiur Rahman Mahmud Road
Jaldhup Pathon-3170
Beanibazar, Sylhet
Bangladesh.
E-mail: walimahmud1972@gmail.com
Tribute
My Reverend Great Grandfather
Dewan M. Mansoor Ali, who fought against the oppression of feudal lords.
The language of the heart
Forgiveness and entreaty are completely beyond my reach yet I am solely with you. Every afternoon, it becomes brighter than earlier. Beyond the walls of emptiness is the illuminated sky of hope. Look at the children of the dawn of independent Bangladesh feeling proud of the map. A composed smile of the fifth happy country is visible in the eyes of the native land. Look at the dear people growing in the midst of green and sunny surroundings. In such convincing attempts, without quantum code formulas- you too can read the language of my heart.
I will write down my future wishes in the special note section. Beside romantic life, I will write about my forefathers, which way they used to return home, and which way weary Dewan Mansoor write hymns at the height of humanity after the end of the class struggle. Let’s create a dream- how many lives are lost behind the description. The cries of thousands of years of oppressed people are part of it. The division of society is easy to observe and evaluate. Yet I live for a secure future, I keep alive the dream-set.
What is the use of putting it in a multi-dimensional colourful cover? The heart always remains eager to hear it. O narrator, can you tell how much love is deposited after how many days of warmth relationship in the red-blue soil as the centre stage. Be the first reader of that story on a rainy night. Drag the emotions to your own home. The arrangement may remove the stains of stresses. Keep in mind where the pollen can be.
Life comes with faith. I also believe in the very basic human qualities. The other half is the variation of breath. Can time be bought at the highest price? Since it can’t be bought, it will pass one day. I think it will be remembered in the irregular pages of the day. I didn’t bring flowers simply on the first visit; I brought flowers in a formal way. I had the experience of being in touch with the illusion of looking at the shy face many times in my life. This is where my motherland is rightly located. Time, relationships and caress- all will be the part of history. The past will be the colourful cover of the six seasons. Magic vocabulary will emerge in the shadow of the trend of language by happy birds.
The habit of knowing something by holding hands in peaceful meditation will also be the part of history. But think of the sleepless night which is not likely to be exhausted. Think of the light of the moon shining on the beautiful face. Tell me how many pairs of shadow bodies can be considered. Darkness will cover before the departure. The family is formed by planting full relationship.
You can also read- language of my heart without the quantum code formulas.
Relationship: Editorial[1]
In the crowd of famous people of the world, I am rather a nameless person. Human mother born in the navel of the stomach; whoever the beloved seems to be missing; O Almighty! Interested people used to document the proceedings to make the relationship successful. In the emptiness of the urgent dialogues, the friendship gathering leaves a mark. But here it is only to listen to the constant vibration. Then the echo of happiness flies in the sky as we approach the dream and an address of honor will be read out. Then scatter your glance to your heart’s content in all possible ways. Greatly compassionate it is!
Tell about the illusion of love that you resort to. Do you care about the unspoken secret words? The language you use to write the text includes ‘You are my earrings, you are my nose ring, you are the blue of my eyes or you are the sesame of my lips.’ Know that you like rings, blue or sesame. As you are close to my heart, I find similarities easily. Greatly compassionate it is!
That bond is attached to the vocabulary of Lajjabati. O forehead-is it a birthright inheritance? In the altar! See, the Ujani flowers that bloom on the way to Huknia Mahalla. How desperately beautiful the flower is to look at! Just say once, in which of your ribs do you hide yourself? No matter how much you touch and smell, the warmth will not stop. Put a bunch of flowers for me. The farther I go, the more I become nostalgic.
When the sky is colorful, dreams still wake up. The hope that leaves the full moon incomplete still produces a loving touch.
Daag No. 1237
It was Wednesday; there was none in Daag No.1237 spot. A dense bamboo clump is to the south, Krishnachura is to the north, pond along the slope of that sloping hill is to the east. To the west? Two pairs of Kadam flower trees, Hasnahena, Rajnigandha, Kantagolap, Neem and depressed Bakul. And the first version of the night’s interior carries an emotional existence…
To be exact, from the eighties to the present day. The realization of the silence of the life’s character leaves behind and keeps it alive. The birds moved on the branch of an unknown tree. Darkness surrounds the long range beyond anticipation, the folded lines of tears crossing the galaxy of the inner city of its endless boundaries.
It is, as it were the cloud of Cherrapunji which is constantly covering the paradise by the persecution of not looking back. Burning in the dangle of enormous potentialities, building concord in adversity and happiness, coming out of the worn-out poetry-house, measuring the starting number of the radius of interest, the dream comes under the open sky. And then?
Based on meditations of creative endeavor, the monologue of responsible personality is published in paika print.
For a dictionary of verses!
Entering the realm of prose, the sensual reader looks for the vulgarity of poetry.
He is not yet tired of covering the shadows. The index of immovable property in the passage of pure rotation digs stability around it. There is a one-member investigation committee working inside life. Kusum flowers are held in each hand by pouring mercury into each cell. The new defunct monk laughs and says, I am that descendent- this way, towards the end of the twilight. To keep the imprint, he moves in a dowdy mood, advancing on the path with lofty desire.
The people inside leave me behind. Inanimate shells lie on the ground with everything lying on the ground leaning on the outdated vocabulary. Even then, the one who enters the middle of prose is still searching for vulgarity in the dictionary of verse.
Cherished Memories
Prohibited vocabulary is kept away for loved ones. The quality stresses did not leave any pressure that the lifecycle ceases functioning half the way. Maybe she is happy. I am afraid I can’t go for looking at more details.
The postman doesn’t deliver any letters because he doesn’t know the address of the person taking care of the addressee. I don’t know why the confusion is not yet over. Anonymous guys climb the stairs of youth. The inquest of sorrow remains in the patriarchy.
The strain of wailings echoes in the center of the heart. Unsolicited donations fall short as soon as spring approaches every year. At the end of the day, you have decorated the boat with carpentry. I cherish a lot of pride for it.
Yes, May you be happy.
Yes, May you be happy always.
At the time of pulse rupture
Try to apply that word. Take it into some action, forgetting any miserable language. If it is the seventh day of the moon, let it be with you. Get it dismissed. If you narrate the chronicles of your adolescence, you can retire there for the rest of your life.
The first part of the story with its play has lost its rhythm. What is left is all fake and is lost too in a distant probability. Maybe now she’s a mummy. Devotion and concentration pass the test of time in all ages. One hundred years later, an unknown archaeologist will dig a hole in the wreckage.
When the soil heats up, the veins burn and the lightning of the month of Ashar strikes. The hands tend to tremble at the exposed intoxication. The unbearable heat upsets the never-ending demand of the human species. The paramour feels annoyed at the human basics but holds a tight grip on the ribs.
Dweller of darkness
Love sanctifies temporary residents. The rotation of close responsibilities is always in action in the cycle of life and puts it in order. Individuals, society, relationships, and oppression are the kind of words that are singlehanded, not paired. Many thoughts remain unknown, perhaps due to the gravitational pull of the arrival and departure scenes.
The artist fails. He proves that failures are the pillars of success. On the other hand, he finds pleasure in playing the roles of the characters of some inhuman beings. Yet the truth prevails in the long run.
Every tomorrow comes after a corresponding phase of darkness. Wherever he touches his pen, he makes all things familiar. In the realm of abstract bliss, the acceptance of wholeness was pending. The generation of non-creativity has left no witnesses. Though the limitations are overcome, the formation from the aggregate is reformed with great skill. It is a decaying society from within the heart.
In the guise of uniformity
That trust may be meaningless but pours siltless currents. In the impeccable season, the tide rises. The call of the monsoon leaves me drenched. I keep it tightly tied in the guise of uniformity.
Up to the bungalow of emptiness
One day she said, I love you. I was waiting for the golden time. Picking up the flowers of the last Baisakh and becoming a consumer of the fair was in no way the destination. The phrase, ‘all right’ once guided the total expression. I have preferred to build a house in emptiness to repay the promise indefinitely.
Behind the odd number are covered the numbers of the verse called ‘Yavati Shon’. The wasted time of the relations is now wounded in character. Apart from maintaining the traditions, I look into other areas of interest. Now the secret lining of the verse seems to dominate the proceedings. In remembrance of the spectacular illusion!
Standing in the hands of non-resident poems for loved ones of one-way formation, forever in the spring. The path that has gone is merged with immortal memories.
The last sign
Wake up in the courtyard of the poem. Where my heart pulls. Why do you say- I will go far away? Far away across the horizon.
Come on and take a look at the arranged flowers and enjoy yourself!
Question
Today, for a long time, I did not see the blink of an eye. The hair didn’t feel disturbed by the arm. There was no response to the excitement of the deep flame in the chest. And how many sad stages to arrange? White soft late night eyeballs and a full parallel chest are already there yet looking for the ultimate.
Just tell me once, darling, why have you put so much pain in your heart?
About to open
Regular rhyming has tied the knot in the hope of opening a new world of poetry. Somewhere there is a welcome speech while in somewhere else, the situation is quite different. Watercolors float closer to the vision of the letters. Prominent subjects formed the landless committee.
I have given the name of the list of lessees again with the summary of the individual types. Nature has given us generously. I carefully picked it up from the middle of it. I keep the unwrapped cover as a body saver.
Tireless attention is paid to determining the analogy of analogous poetry. I could not go on a symbolic hunger strike wanting to be marginalized. How far is he? Everything is payable to the unattached guy having no relations. Still, it continues. However, it continues until it disappears.
O Mother, it is for you
O Mother, we are blessed for your sake. You have made our life full of dreams. You have made the country for me. That is why I tell you that it is unique.
O Mother, we are blessed for your sake. Your soft touches wiped away the sweat. Your warmth has paid for it. Tell me how to repay. Are there any means?
O Mother, we are blessed for your sake.
Behag of the circle!
The sky of the mind flutters in the full moon of Kartik. Primitive power is endangered in the company of Jajati. Touching the heart with irresistible desire! New dreams and inspiration prevail upon life unless life is drowned in bed. I had better open the deep veil of darkness instead of the superficial reflection.
Sitting at the study table, writing poetry in the light provided by the sixty-watt bulb, I recollect the sad moments, which have created a great pile, causing a lot of mental stress. Aksharbritta, the rhyming structure looks upon with a silent gaze. When swarabritta, the rhyming structure attains a perfected point, matrabritta, the rhyming structure concludes.
In one corner of the clogged mind, I put a line on the living stick and wrote- a musical Behag. Olive pollen-like sensation sometimes fails to breed in the earth, the base of all growth sources.
The urge to lose
Let’s get lost in the forest. Let’s go where trees stand to express courtesy. It does so in search of a reunion in the blended melody of green nature. There lies a tender house. There is also a tile of long-awaited moderate love offerings.
Let’s mortgage our minds to a third party and get lost.
Unknown title
It’s a tale of many small events. It was evening then. You had asked about the entreaties of the heart, what do you see? The eyes took place at their own speed in the blue sky. The shivering veins seemed to be frozen. Life experienced a break and wanted to be contacted. But it was grasped by fancy emotions. At the time of carrying the thirsty testimony, the tongue and the upper lip were busy in return for the opposite neck. Lastly reviewed verses!
Let there be rain in your eyes, let Shravan come. Let the blue lips cover all the favourite jurisdictions.
Extrajudicial Killings
# the life dominated by captivity even in dreams.
People stay awake and silently look deep into the night. They look at the body lying in the crossfire. The Government Office of the so-called press release.
Humanity loses its content humans acquire unlimited power. He who loses his relations knows what the poison of pain is really. From the custody of time, the fields and jungles have to be crossed to reach Oxon town. Faith grows in the deception of certainty. Exhaustion passes through the long watch of the sleepless night, and the sky stores itself in a single piece of blue, holding pictures.
He who is a victim of enforced disappearance remains missing for the rest of his life. Names are printed in the black-and-whitelist. Why will my nation one day face that bloody extrajudicial killing?
Struggle after a struggle! The survivors of storms, floods, and mudslides are my near and dear ones. Stay forever in the house related to traditions.
The Fiery Transcription
Day follows night, or night follows day? The dark fortnight stays awake with a parallel position of the alternative option. Thoughts are constantly moving towards their ends. Then a part of the world took on the costume of the moon. The dreamy people are lying in the graves as the skeletons of separation. Waiting for the new dead bodies is going on all over the neighborhood. The silent awakening of the fireflies is synonymous with longing for the positions.
Alas! What a friendly relationship between soil and human beings. It is a sort of end-to-end coexistence. No surviving elder knows when the earth began its journey. The body odour is sensed well in the handful of soil. When the creatures are alive, the predominance of violence always prevails. But the practice of permanent settlement with the soil is unchanging. Only the permanence of activity and creativity is eternal.
I forget all these. I try to address my thought level of concentration. The worldly emotions prevail upon me significantly. The influence is getting longer and longer. The irrelevance of being lost in the influence authenticates my egotism. The beautiful sun of the morning emerges after the revolution.
Geometric divisions and others
O compassion, you are an ornament of precious stones. O dream, I am a jeweler. Let’s divide the folds in the heart evenly. Complementary phases are the next reality. Only creativity suffers.
Thoughts may be revisiting. Bind the indescribable torn wire, my friend.
Embrace
Temptation in its entirety generates prolonged understanding. Intoxicated with the tools of making fossils! After the scream in his voice, there was a picture of blood on the white bed.
It indicates the presence of desire and goes one step further in desirable areas of interest and excellence. In the midst of the story behind the scenes, my green day gets changed by night. A lot of love and harmony, sometimes surrounded by transformed grace.
Bringing the call of joy and a face full of love- such your welcome embrace.
Grandmother and my childhood
The overstatement of the old-fashioned feeling of childhood is still ringing in my ears. Hey, what are you doing here? Lightning flashes in the afternoon. The call of the cow having limited movement in the field! I hid myself behind the doors. I screamed and ran to escape. Although I was a capable man over the year, I had a share of the pension. The youngsters used to say- we are fifty percent, the rest fifty percent is his. This is how I grew up in the days following. I used to show the picture of the ship drawn by my grandfather and say, ‘Bibi, did the grandfather draw this picture?’ She would look deeply at the picture and say- ‘Yes.’
One night, my mother suddenly called out, ‘Wali, look, what your Bibi is doing.’ I quickly left the dining table and stood next to the north-south-facing body. The glow of life was slowly coming to a close. The voice trembled with tears.
The vision became a witness to that death. In the whirl of time, dear Hurjan Bibi and all the related childhood sensations are lost.
For space
Several ways have been attempted to touch the warm heart for space. The heart swells and becomes disobedient. Desires do not remain constant. I prefer to be in competition for the adorable materiality. Success is overwhelming. Let it be implied- either in giving or taking.
I will be the earth in the orbit of the evening. I will scatter my shadow and frenziedly swallow the entirety. Is there any place where you will hide? I will divide it up in severe ways.
Land and Farmers: A Review of feelings
Today, the farmer returns home with a yoke on his shoulder after exerting labour from a typical field of Bengal.
In the cultivable land, the plowshare breaks the noon dyke in the field. The rake breaks the lumps of soil. Yields are substantial, maintaining the geographical boundaries. Not far away, village after village was surrounded by boro farmers. The rural brides sit at the end of their work. They wait when their husbands will come home. They had left in the dew-soaked morning. They take their clothes from the cloth stand with care. They would also take care of the temperature of the boiling water placed in the oven, and move the firewood. Hardworking animals quench their thirst well. In the fields full of grain and in the wilderness across the map!
Dear farmers, the smell of your ploughed soil is more expensive than the perfume I bought at the highest price. I know and my Creator knows.
Relations, extend your cooperation
In the part of the latitude where I am standing, the betrayal of the rebel is over. The poems revolve around the planet Earth, becoming the authorized representative of the front and the back. The descendants of different parts of the world, who settled near death, were lying next to their ancestors. It was a winter night. The recklessness of the trapped breath made him restless in intensity. In the end, the bliss of survival wraps the body.
The extent of the relationship is exposed with the invisible hand in front of the eyes. The total dynasty has vaguely descended to the level of the earth. Or is it a visual illusion? I want to live even if the icy current that goes down in the spine. I want to live with the right to complete the unfinished work. For the necessities of life, there awakens a rigorous resentment. Oppressed relations- extend your cooperation. Have a rebellious voice even at the risk of death. For the oppressed people whose existence matters there.
In the part of the horizon where I stand – A bright protest of change awaits.
Submission[2]
Al Naqba: Palestine, Bosnia or the Middle East appears in the page the souvenir. It was an absolute reflection of the Innocent World Children’s Day in a periodical published close to the time of its publication in 2004. Alas! It has lost its momentum.
In order to destroy the hundred-year-old artifacts, the notorious barbaric forces destroyed the museum. They did so in order that the new generations may not know their rich, accumulated past. And in the middle of the night, the mother’s heart became terrified by the crying of the child. Humanity is robbed of by the boots of the invaders. Human rights organizations observe a mysterious silence. On the other hand, all the lively folk of the peace-loving world weep without restraint.
A mother hid the food of the newborn baby in the middle of her chest and finds shelter in the corner of the room in the darkness. In another case, a child died in the mother’s lap. Did these innocent children know it? Had they done any injustice with the world? O silent community, the wounded people are calling you. They are calling for the last time. Be united against injustice.
What would you have done if those who had been killed included your child, or your brother and even your sister who was molested or killed? Wake up! Let the world wake up as it means of protest.
The world trembled with the cry of the wounded chest-the sky covers the body of the earth.
Uninterrupted Sentence
At sea, the waves of the sea in particular! The number breaks and so does the coast, and finally, it hits the perimeter. Sit next to me, holding hands. I am not far away, in the estuary of the Bay of Bengal. If the Sahara Desert were on the other side; I would say- O sea, you are the waters that touch Bengal. My beloved is sitting down and crying. Let her be bathed fully and fill the sight to the brim. Remember your mind, hold hands to touch each other. Let all that is good flood the heart.
He who can be chained a thousand times will still be not own. If you fail to tie someone to the heart, he can never be your own. Ah! Don’t shed tears and make your mindset painful. Don’t give indulgence to the dejected mind. Miseries seem to have washed away the sufferings. When the mind loses charm, the heart becomes tired. Not a dream, not a pain, nor even a sigh. There is also that abstract break that covers your environment. Inevitable destiny binds the deep thread. Pairs are made for each other.
Long live. May life grow up bound by the attachment of compassion. Be well, be happy. Engage the rest of your life with pleasant moments. The man will come and say, I know everything. I belong to him, the only one I have to love.
Otherwise
Since everyone has to depart, I will too. Influenced by conventional features, cardinal passions come on the way to cause intricacies. Within the durability of life, day and night, the family hardly feeds on the daily movement schedule. Many painful deliberations are pending to be communicated. The role of the total eclipse is preached from house to house. The question arises, keeping in mind the speed of revolution, when would it happen? The alphabet gets separated from a block of missing letters, causing the sensitive flame of isolated phrases to blaze.
Significant events of a long life remain incomplete in basic sources and contemporary conflict. At a reasonable time, words and phrases manage themselves to keep silent. The daily necessities are pushed back to the shoulders of the earthen walls of that earthen house. Millions of homeless people live a life of uncertainty. Civilization has learned the tricks of unharmed suffering. Pleasant moments are deprived of abstract pride. None knows when he will break the silence. The certificate signed by the mystic is the essence of formality. The press release opens before the inner eyes. The slender branch of unwritten terms is filled up with the false variation of time. However, in the joy of holding the dew with the green leaves of the morning, one gets the nature every day, in the light of day.
From the day of birth, the hymns of humanity are chanted; the corruption of the spoken form takes place in the rebirth. Is the dirge of separation the first parents of creation, Adam and Eve? Then there is cultivation, living in the belly of the soil. The upper part of the earth is made up of livable stances. The marginal society is surrounded by invisible security fences and unrestricted shadows. Remember, everyone has to leave, beyond the illusion of friendship of all castes and identities.
Acquisition and Bed-Zahur
Some people lean against achievement against solitude. Bedh-Zahur’s tune is played by the mystics. Mental sufferings get elapsed in the decorated jingle of existence. Nagri is engraved in letters, all of which belong to the poet. The voice of the age revolves around the valley of premature deaths. The thrust of eternity has amplified the surge. The underground Allied plate has experienced breakage. Still, Arkum Shah sailed in Lokoon’s boat.
My father’s voice are sounded in my ears. My nation gave me fifty letters including Chandrabindu. Mother apprised me of the value of birth on the earth. Here only one-fourth of the area is land. Due to the drought, the fields fail to produce much produce this year. The life of a skeleton dies for a single meal. The country bears the pressure of those greedy people who raise the flag of power. On the other hand, the mainstream suffers from hardship and has little time and scope to think for the marginalized.
The conscious writes react: I have given a base to the emotions with skillful hands. Experience crushes the untruth but the truth sticks to it.
Share of the land
The old house was reportedly blown away in the afternoon at a certain distance in the inner stream. And the mind is the wealth of man, what a joy to run the heart with it! In all the land of the earth, humans have basic rights to own as children of Adam. Then the ground is divided, and the land is marked. People are tainted and in their hands, the pursuit of personal interests is severely endangered.
In this world of sharing, people made of clay seek existence in clay houses.
Signature artwork passed away prematurely in 1982. The massacre at the Shatila camp in Beirut can be referred to. Here History speaks of itself. Next to it is Palestine where Princess Salom wanted the head of John the Baptist. And here is the Aqsa Mosque (Mosjidul Aqsa) of the Muslims, the birthplace of Jesus of the Christians, and Haykal-i-Sulaiman of the Jews. The mainstream of the Semitic religion is the centre of consciousness. Yet the bleeding didn’t stop and so didn’t the loss of life. People made of clay get mixed with the soil. There are different schools of thoughts and doctrines. Moving away from the pursuit of peace, the emergence of conflict is inevitable. Violence escalates into war.
Yet injustice should not predominate, it is justice that wins. In this world of sharing, the creatures seek the existence of clay houses. The Morning Prayer is underway. Come, O people, build harmony among people, and create bonds with others. We share our sorrows with one another. We try to build abodes of peace in terms of friendship.
The seed phase of dreams
Dawn wakes up with light and darkness, co-operating each other. The sperms dream and remember, and absorb the lessons of the basic human emotions. Overcoming the obsession with softness, the generation moves on through the passage of time. The breath of life touches all noises. When the new vocabulary of solitude is written, remember that one day we dedicated countless silent hours. You are awake in the past-friendly poetry. The room is filled with the call to change the dream. Let’s talk about the future of a complete person. Let’s put the written words in the mood of the heart. As much as is left, it remains in the receivable deposit account. Yet the decade reaches the level of poetry … So dear, rest assured that I am well.
I saw a lot, but did not react in any way. I kept it a secret for another day. This is the reality when the heart walks on the rustic path. Is it still awake or on the way? As if I bought retail expectations from the store. It goes beyond midnight. I am just raising two hands, praying for a certain dawn. Come to the soul, and let me hide you in the infinity. Nimai Chan goes to Sanyasa in search of him.
For not being able to tell a lie, I lost the happy company of the lovely and beautiful association. No regrets for a long time. The faded feelings initiating from pride have reached an edge. As many drops of rain fell on the bungalow house, I will bring out all the essence of the sounds thus caused. Hearing the call of the right-hand man, the silvery moon pours forth its light. It’s like seeing my favourite charming face.
After so long a time…
Even though the exchange of sounds ends with conversation, there is a rhythm of silence. The arena gets covered with the cuddle of love. The middle age of desires begins to emerge from the exile. The lines of trees are spread on both sides of the path surrounded by grass and woods.
Are you listening? At one time, the world falls asleep, leaving the silence behind. Optimistic voices tread constantly. I bid goodbye to you, sitting under the light. Finally, I put the troubles on the ground. But if I have to give more, I will. Know yourself and verify, I don’t belong to someone else.
Epitaph[3]
# after the death of the Great Father, that silent picture just stared at me constantly.
Different kinds of reading-writings exercise books were there- so many cherished memories. Father, ‘Bring me a set of dresses and another set of Khadi Punjabi from Comilla.’ There is none left in the world to claim such definite demands. My world trembles when I think of the memory of a selfless wait to return home late. From young to old, I always moved on in his shadows, and this has been a part of my life.
O father, I have visited my forefathers’ house in the UK. I walked along Bescot Road in Birmingham, where my grandfather of the Forward Bloc was arrested. I walked to Walsall Town Centre, where he used to spend the weekend. While hearing the story of prison life and the struggle of my dear grandfather for freedom, I put my head on the chest of that great son of the soil, Bhumiputra. Seeing the appearance of a revolutionary, I also grew up with gratitude expressed to my father. One is destitute without the fatherly care and shadow. That is an unfortunate destitution.
Having been in abroad for more than a decade, I could not touch your chin, and your finger, in your farewell journey. That chin was an absolute source of compassion. The fingers held me all through my childhood and importantly on my way back from school. The right to apologize was reserved. I couldn’t touch your entire height.
Father, you have taught me the unpaid definition of service on the reading table, in the verandah, and in the light of the tube light. A tireless form surrounds humanity. The cover of your teaching became a wall around me. This happens in the traditions of social philosophy.
Seeing the footprints you left behind, I open– dedication: Latika. The descendant of generosity was the sender, so the silent darkness touches the frozen body of the recipient. Father, I swear by your affection- your radiant utterance wakes me up, ‘you too be well, son.’
You had built the school in firm belief on the marginal convictions of the basic attitudes. The center of the heart was flooded with tears. The moments of happiness and sorrow come back like waves in many a get-together. A constant emptiness haunts the festival- the assembly of chat-friendly people. Will the sheltered people endure the test of time? O my Father, the ponds of Huknia Mahalla are covered in the shade of egalitarian root trees.1237 Dag, Geography of Dewan Villa.
Shall I write the commentary on the profound silence of this quiet village? What will be the means of mourning? Tell me! The chapters that are mixed in the consciousness take the captivating lesson of personality. I live to be a part of it in the vast courtyard of honesty left. Infinite distance is now within my reach because you didn’t want anything in one life. How do I overcome the design of the soil? I am also bound by the infallible provisions of life– in that temporary abode. I wish when I were lifeless, I would be by your side. Forgive me, father, forgive this child.
The departure- that fills the memories calls for a movement for the establishment of a university, a six-point movement to struggle for independence. Bratachari campaign is constantly called for in the service of education. You expanded knowledge in the neighborhood, villages and the Upozila. You left but made all around luminous. You worked endlessly without caring posts and chairs. There are many things that you have lost in building a sick society. There was ingenious courage and no tension. You are mixed up in your creations, you are constantly remembered.
When a wise person passes away, the walls of time become colourful covers. Hard work of varied nature is also needed in crafts. After the conclusion, if the life span of the earth is left to zero, will the rotation of birth slow down? Where will the fascination that encompasses the abstract surroundings lose its impetus? Incomparable epitaphs of skill are engraved with self-reliant examples including life expectancy and oxygen.
O, my Father, it is the values that carefully build the civic monument of the city.
[1] Dedication: Best regards to Makmad A. Mahmud who was imprisoned in anti-British movements for India’s independence and worked in the England Branch of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s Forward Bloc and was an expatriate Organizer of the Great Liberation War of Bangladesh.
[2] Dedication: Edward Said, a Palestinian-American professor of literature at Columbia University, a public intellectual, and a founder of the academic field of postcolonial studies.
[3] Dedication:Respected Matiur Rahman Mahmud: O, my father.