Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Brief Biography: Pen-name SHIKDAR MOHAMMED KIBRIAH, originally named SHIKDAR GULAM KIBRIA according to the national ID, born on 1st July, 1968, in Sylhet, Bangladesh, Masters in philosophy, is a globally published, awarded, translated and featured world renowned poet, essayist, story writer, critic, translator, ambassador and philosopher.
He is a bilingual poet and writer writing in Bangla and English. He is a global poetry promoter and literary figure. He is the founder and president of Poetry and Literature World Vision. His published books are so far 18. Among them eight on poetry, seven on prose and three on story. His writings have been translated and published in 40 languages. He has been featured as a global poet many times.
He participated in world poetry conferences, fairs, festivals, recitals and literary conclaves. He is an ambassador of world peace, love and humanity appointed by different literary, cultural and poetic forums active globally. His writings are often published in world famous print and electronic magazines, journals, newspapers, websites, blogs, anthologies, tv, radio and channels.
A Banyan Man
Knotty equation of racing time all around
Busier everyone with a symbolic gesture
Of self sensitive interest.
Only me kept unbar all of my rusty windows
To be touched with paddy sweetened wind
Of autumn
Will the peasantry have to go for a waiver
Of loan again?
Burning their crops the inevitable salt
Of the existence
Produced in a chemistry of their sweat and
Paddy scent.
Here is a paddy-burnt yard in my existence,
Sultry midday and the funeral of farming!
The big banyan tree standing in wilderness,
Hanged roots of reminiscence;
I’m its reality and it’s my appearance.
Is it a turn of returning but any harvest
Of a dreamy peasant walking aloof
Through the boundary of the farmland!
But speechless I know how much mixed
You are with paddy scent, how obedient
To your boss and dominate all autumns
With your unregistered landlord hand.
Tiresome City and Jackfruit Days
In this dreary summer midday
While Indian cuckoo flies in the sky
With nonstop howling,
Sitting in a hidden branch of the tree
Black hooded oriole calls restless,
Inner me searches jackfruit-ripen days
My city days begin to melting away
Alike a summer-sweated real rural wife,
Make me back to a compact cottage
Beside a paddy swamp.
Under the shadow of hijal tree
I, a modern city dweller, come back
To a farmer’s veranda where waiting
A beloved housewife eagerly.
Crossing river Dhansiri, Kapataksmo or
Walking knee-touched water of Buribarak
I wished to return to you,
To your smooth ground’s love
O’ my rebirth-beloved.
But alas! how missing the dropping dot
Of dreariness from the sky into the waveless water
Of swamp,
Likewise the postmodern effort
Of coming back to your veranda is missing
Into the city noise.
A Lovelorn Calling
If your whole days and nights spend friendless-lonely
In the midst of a crowd, then make me a call
In your endearment internet
I would reach your cottage
Breaking knee-touched water.
If wood-packer days pass in psycho-physical agony,
Then send me your load of pain by Hridoypur transport
I’d unload your sorrows just my handed.
If you are unaccompanied by a constant walking,
Then rest a while under Hijal tree
And uncover yourself by silvan fondle.
If you are sweated in scorching summer-midday,
Be seated to my veranda and unbutton your dress
Southern breeze will cool your fug.
If your alluvial land is burnt in a draught,
Then step to the soil of a real peasant
Feel how easily you will have been wet
And melted with pleasant mud.
If you are burnt waterless with the fire of water,
Be flashed alike Eve with the pre-historic signal
Of creative water.
I’ll swallow your fruit of pain like a true Adam.
