Poems

প্রকৃতি এবং ইচ্ছে

জানালার পাশে বসে প্রায় প্রতিদিন
কি যে দেখি ভাবি শুধু
এত অমলিন
কেন ঐ গাছটি: যে হলুদিয়া হয় 
শীতকাল এসে গেলে
দুটি পাখি হেসে গেলে 
এমন প্রনয়? 

বারান্দায় বসে থাকি কখনো সখনো
কি যে দেখি ভাবি শুধু
মিষ্টি মাখানো
কেন ঐ গাছগুলো? পাতাময় হয়
শীতকাল এসে গেলে 
সব পাতা ঝেড়ে ফেলে 
জারুলে জড়ায়?

ওরকম গাছ যদি 
আমি হয়ে উঠি
পারবো কি নিতে, আহ, 
এই প্রস্তুতি? 
জীবনের শীত হবে কাজের সময়
যা যাবার চলে যাবে
যা না হবার না হবে
আমি রব হাসি খুশি 
দুচোখের কোলে নেই সুখ অপচয়? 

আমি জানি, জানি
জীবনের শীত মানুষ সইতে পারে না
কষ্টের হিম-পাথর বইতে পারে না
বসন্ত প্রিয় তার রোদেলা বিকেল

তবু আমি চাই 

দুখের গভীর হিমে জীবনের শীতে
বিপরীত পথে হেঁটে বহুদূর যেতে
হয়ে উঠি সেই গাছ, সেই সব ফুল
যারা ছাড়ে হিম দিনে মুক্তি মুকুল।

৫/০৯/২০২২
Poems

My poems published in জলঘড়ি ১৯৯৮

খোয়াতে ভেজা ব্যথাতুর খোয়াব

টুপটাপ সারারাত কেটে গেছে চোখ মুছে
ঊহ! পাপড়ির তলে বিচ্ছেদের কঠিন খোয়াব। 

রোদ পোহাতে পোহাতে ধানকাটা বিচালী ছিঁড়েছি কত
খালের কোমল কাদায় পা দাবিয়ে পায়ের মজা
মাছরাঙার কমলা বুকে ভালোবাসার বিখারা
খোলাঝাক পিঠেতে রাব মিশিয়ে খাওয়া 

চলে যাবোঃ 
ফেলে এক নির্মিত কালভারট
এপারে আমি এক নাগুরে হাসি
ওপারে চরের ধুলোয় ধুসরিত হৃদয়। 
চলে যেতে হবে বিস্তৃতির করতল ছুয়ে--
সিঁড়ি ভাঙ্গা, বই, নোট, রিকশার হাওয়া,
নেক্রপোলিশ দালানের সুর। 

ফিচেল সময় একদিন ফিনফিনে স্মৃতির শাড়ী
পরাবে গ্রাম্য ঢঙ্গে আমাকে, 
আমি হবো এক ব্যথাতুর খোয়াব
সুখ-দুখের ফিরিস্তি। 

Written and published in 1998.
Poems

The Blessings of Sharing

I don’t know
How to row
The boat of pain
In heavy rain
That floods the river
Makes trees shiver
Putting them in agony, in an anxious fever.

I really don’t know, my mate,
How to row
The vessel of memory
Against the flow
Of the water that leaps the bank,
drifts the port and breaks the plank.

Pains and Memories
Memories and Pains
Every moment they drain and drain
The happiness, the energy
The smile, the bliss
Suck my heart with a Dracula kiss.

One day, then, I dreamt a dream
When the night was about to trim
The day’s hair, the day’s fringe
My days pass by like a movie cringe

I took a sharp knife from the kitchen’s paw
Cut my memory with its ruthless claw
I also cut the green chilli, onion, garlic
Marinated my memory with a ginger stick
Threw the yellow oil in the brain’s pan
A hard-boiled simmering then began.

I invited the pen and the friends on the weekend
Served my pain and memory roasted, red,
They tasted my memory, my labour, and the food
Held with bursting eyes, “It’s so good!”

I learned then, then I know
How…why…when to row
The ship of pain
The memory titan
Heavy and huge
In the social ocean, in the collective deluge.

19th January 2022, Toowong.
https://um-mes-alma.com/2022/11/29/me-and-my-memory/  
Op-eds

The Candy House by Jennifer Eagan: a Reflection from Emotions perspective

I have read The Candy House (2022) fairly recently for teaching Contemporary Literature course. This is a networked novel, presenting interlocking characters and their life stories through an advanced technology, named Own Your Unconscious. Based on the character Miranda Kline’s book Patterns of Affinity, Bix Bouton invented a cloud technology where everyone can upload their unconscious, watch their memories as films and share them in the general digital platform The Collective Consciousness. A group of people falls for this tech at once and use and promote them. Another group known as Eluders try to dodge the platform and the way this digitisation of human mind and memory destroys emotions, relationship and imagination.

This plotline jerks and fascinates me concurrently. I was just wondering whether the current Facebook or Instagram are like this digital tech. Don’t we upload our life, our unconscious and our memories to these aerial platforms and sharing them across the known and the unknown? From such feelings, I asked my students whether they like to upload their unconscious to such platform. Many said yes, many said no, many said, they will share them in cloud but not in the Collective. The swing between preservation of memory and protection of privacy becomes apparent in their choices.

I love the book for its placing us in front of such deeply existential and philosophical question and dilemma. I got stuck in some quotations that lift the fictional fabric towards a deep vision of life and living such as “knowing everything is too much like knowing nothing; without a story, it’s all just information” (333) or “Consciousness is like the cosmos multiplied by the number of people alive in the world (assuming that consciousness dies when we do, and it may not) because each of our minds is a cosmos of its own: unknowable, even to ourselves” (86). Or “To a human, a goose’s wish to return to its Canadian home may seem sentimental, but “wish” and “home” don’t mean to a goose what they mean to a human” (46).

These pronouncements challenge the digital shaping of knowledge, mind and emotions in the current world. I feel like I know a lot through scrolling people’s walls every day but I don’t know anything about their lives. I have a lot of information but not stories that speak of real people, real mind. I got shocked and emotionally guilty when a well established classmate with a shiny face in Facebook committed suicide. His friends knew him without knowing him at all. What’s the value of such knowing that cannot let people know that human mind is unfathomable like a cosmos? If such is the case how will people come home, a home as a space of love, understanding and protection? Do we have only walls now, not homes?

Egan brought me a bit more closure to these hard truths and awake me to care and search for emotional authenticity in a digitally stimulated world. I feel like the character Rebecca, “I’m the only person in the world as obsessed with authenticity as you are” (29).
A great read for those in my line of thought.😊.

3 October 2022, Brissy.