Poems of Bangladesh Series 8

Poems of Bangladesh Series 8

TAPAN BAGCHI

Melody of Harmfulness

Translated by
Siddique Mahmudur Rahman

Translated by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman

5 6
© Siddique Mahmudur Rahman and Tapan Bagchi Contents
Compose: Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
Poems of Tapan Bagchi: A Sparkle in the Dark
Cover design: Original in Bangla by Poet Abid Anowar
Translated by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman 6
Printed by Sense 16
In this city 18
First Edition :February, 2013 Ketaki and Radhachura 20
Here is humanbeings 22
Price Taka 180.00
In Eternal Ailment 24
Guidance 26
Recognition 28
Prickle of Keya 30
Resemblance 32
Tree of Suffering 34
Valient 38
Topical 38
Light of Unattainment 40
One Single Rose 42
Twenty First 44
Melody of Harmfulness 46
Rain 48
Golden Ailment 50
Your Songs 52
How Could I Feel 54
Still then Why 56
Who knows 58
Unpublished 60
Tribute to Distance 62
Temple of Slumber 64
All the rivers were named Ganga 68
Yatra Kahini: Six 70
Shahbagh: One 72
Stream Tale: One 74
Girl - Damsel - Woman 76
Fruit-bearing 78
I do not have a Chair 80
Melody of Debt 82
Legend of Night 84
Open Market 86
Embryo of Desire 88
If you do not Come 90
Inquiry 92

5 6
Autobiography
Bose Cabin
You stare at Sunshine
The Sky, the Padma and
the mellowness of Moon
Illicit Language
One Mehrab Ali 104
Through Drowsiness
Kathchampa
Crown of Wind
Queen of Nachole
Today in intense Rain
Today I soak in the Rain
5 6
94 Poems of Tapan Bagchi: A Sparkle in the Dark
96
98 Original in Bangla by Poet Abid Anowar
100 Translated by Siddique Mahmudur Rahman
102
106 Tapan Bagchi has passed two decades through the path of literary pursuit.
108 By this time he has showed his dexterous creativity in writing poems,
110 critical essays, research and even in juvenile write-ups. Tranquility of
112
poetry, pleasantry and rhythmic skill, analytical fervour in his literary
114
116
criticisms and essays, inquisitive mentality of the engrossing readers are
found in his research works. Since he started his journey as a literary
person, his literary criticisms of poetry, biographical research, folk-culture
(Yatra) and movie and many other research works were published from
Bangla Academy, Nazul Institute, Bangladesh Film Archive and
Bangladesh Shishu Academy. Those who are aware of this matter shall
beyond doubt agree that he is the only multi-faceted writer of his time.
Today I tried to make a short review on his poems. I wanted to give
importance on his rhythmic style for a special reason. Almost all the poets
of his time tried to concentrate on blank verse as one of the major media (a
few concentrated only medium) of writing poems. For this the readers of
present time started to discard such poems as unreadable. At this juncture,
Tapan Bagchi's poems make up expectant. Though being a poet of modern
time, Sudhindra Nath, never wrote a single poem on blank verse;
Jibanananda and Buddhadev Basu wrote only a few poems on blank verse;
looking at the disorder in the techniques Shamsur Rahaman, at his older
age, spoke, 'By returning to sonnets, I lodge my protest' (Janakantha
Samayiki, 23 October 1996); Al Mahmud said, 'Those who do not know
metrics, do not know anything; (Inquilab Literature, 3 October 1997).
Without knowing the meaning or due to their own inefficiency the fellow
poets of Tapan Bagchi are writing poems at their own obstinacy making
the matter more hazardous.
Till today Tapan Bagchi has published 5 books of poems. The first one
'Ketokir Proti Pokkhopat' came out in February 1996. In this year in June
'Smasanei Shuni Shankhadhwani' came out under Young Poets Project of
Bangla Academy. Then in 2005 came out 'Ontohin Khoter Govire' and in
2007 'Sokol Nodir Nam Ganga Chhilo' came out. In 2000, selected 100
poems of above books were published as 'Nirbachito 100 Kobita'. I will
concentrate my discussion with this volume only.
Modern or Post-modern, whatever the title we confer of the period, the
evolution of poems are not the product of snobbery, rather it goes on
flowing through a scientific process- such feeling worked inside him,
therefore Tapan Bagchi's specialty lies on his poems and discussions on
poems. His remark on the hazardous writing of his contemporary poets is
sheer sarcastic:
Write, Let them write,
It is their time for writing
They've to fill the pages
Let it be urine or shit.
If written, those'll be printed no doubt
So many journals,. vast field
These are not read, only the arrogance.
Of the poets and their egotism. (Let them write)
If anyone is so much confident about his own writings, he can not express
his feelings like this. I am not saying that this one is a masterpiece, it
represents manner of his literary style, but I thought it is proper to quote a
few lines of this rhyme-like poem only to make the readers aware about
the insignificant nature of the writings to Tapan Bagchi's contemporary
poets. Present decadent character of our poetry lies in a tendency that rose
in eighties. Starting from influential bureaucrats almost all the authoritative
people (even the head of the state) started to write poems. Eminent
novelists and artists, actors and actresses, officials of radio and TV, even
elderly professors started to practice in writing poetry and many editors
were compelled to publish their writings. At this stage even the editor went
on writing poems. One statistics reveals, when a poet joins as editor in any
periodical, his writings started to publish more in different periodical and
also in his own paper. Rafique Azad, an eminent poet of Sixties, wrote a
line - 'All bastard want to become poet'- which created great sensation
during that time. The period next to it was more devastating. Tapan
Bagchi's comment, stated above, rightly aims at the so-called poets and
poems.
Endeavour for newer ways of art and culture in a continuous process, but it
should not be deviated from the root and jump to a newer field outright.
Buddhadev Basu wrote, Newer attempt in art and culture is like spreading
of branches of a growing tree; it grows and develops clutching to its roots.
Creators of post-Rabindric modernism trend to newer vision but were
knew very well they could not thrive at all detaching from the originality
of traditional Bangla poems. So they changed the language but did not
5 6
compromised with the contextual purity. They did not even tried to, or
could not go beyond to this arena. Even Baudelaire , father of modernism
of Twentieth Century was dedicated to the contextual purity of the
Seventeenth Century. Even he rebuked Jacques Prévert, a contemporary
poet of his time, at his old age, for his slight deviation in his versification.
When we have reached at the ninetieth decade of the just concluded twentieth
century, we were going through an endless anarchy, appearance of some poets,
like Tapan Bagchi make up hopeful and encouraged. We see that he has
expressed a vital remark of Buddha Dev Basu at the end of his poem:
The deception in poems, can never be accepted,
The road gives direction to the path about its destination. (Reckoning of Roads)
The path itself guides us to the right path- he who is engrossed with this
thiught never defaults to his journey. Tapan, therefore, never did not joined
the group of defaulters. His poems goes on to a newer route obeying the
contextual purity. In the bane of one of his book and keeping with this faith
in mind Humayun Azad, a few months before his death reiterated the same
principle, 'Nothing to negotiate.' We can not but hope that Tapan Bagchi's
poem shall surely navigate through the ages crossing decades of time.
While discussing poetry, I give less importance to the subject matter of the
poems. A horrific poem can be written on flowers, whereas an exquisite
poem can be written on shit. One can judge a poet's calibre by judging his
creativity. Even then, I can tell that Tapan Bagchi has housed pleasantry
and eternal life (even love of man and woman too is its forte) more than
contemporary themes. Some contemporary subjects, even political topics
also been added in artistic creativity.
Prime subjects of Tapan Bagchi encompasses artistry, such as various
subjects of artistic creativity and myth and literary tradition, also it houses
classical nature has also been taken up with utter dexterity. His poems
generally rhyming, with coagulating accent have given a special effect.
Tapan Bagchi's akkhorbritiyo (akkhorbritiyo = Bangla metre) writings
(giving importance on syllebles) is the prime medium of conveying his
feelings. The traditional 14 beat adipoyar (indigenous 14-metre Poyar)
system almost disappeared in contemporary poems. He has give a new life
into it.
One-fourth of the book of poems (24 out of 100) are written in traditional 14
beat adipayar. Anato Asukhy, Ekobingsho, Krishi-Prokoushal, Prithvi,
Chandua, Teji, Rangila, Droho, Jiboner Noishogari, Sirij Kobitar Panchti,
Adhikar, Pother Hiseb, Bikelnama, Rhitumoti, Jibika, Shealera, Shilpayantra,
Nodikahini:Ek, Yantrakahini: thi, Nibirh Brishtite Aj, and Bhije Bhije Ami Aj
have traditional 14 beat adipayar brilliant expressivity.
To show a few of his traditional 14 beat adipoyar creativity, here I quote a
few lines from 'Shelalera':
Amader khamarer Charpashe kal
Pal pal sheyaler ghorafera dekhi.
E-ki! tara gan gae somobeto sure
Dure noe khub kachhakachhi lokaloy.
(Yesterday around our farm
I see packs of jackels roam about
Lo! they sing in unison
Not very far, . near the locality.)
Bhoe ki motei ney manush O alor?
Bhor noe Sondhya noe bikeler Chhaya
Maya nei, naki tara bondhu manusher!
Er kono sujobab darun ochena.
(Are they not afraid of human beings or lights?
Not in morn, not even in evening, in the shadows of afternoon
Don't they bother, or are friends od human beings
I don't get any reply, its fairly unknown)
First line of this poem has four-beat matrabrityo style. Even, if we see
'Bhoyki mo/ tei nei/ manush a/ lor?/ after displaying this type of middle
break the rest cn also be termed into four beat scan, but when we see the
word 'sandhya noe' we make sure that the poem is written in 14 beat
okkhorbrityo style. Most interesting part is the poet has kept end word
rhyming with the first word of the next line, such as, 'kal/pal, dekhi/ e ki,
sure/dure, alor/bhor, chhaya/maya, etc. These are works of powerful poets.
If we look into some other poems we will see the same metrical style-
Chanchar chuler meye gopon khudae
Chumboner ghran makhe mukher bhugole
Chorkabajir srote bhese jai eka
Choksa akash theke odriswer kole (Chadowa)
(Girl with kinky hair in secret thirst
Smears perfume of kisses on the backdrop of face
The the tide of spinners floats away alone
From the cloudy sky to the obscure eternity.)
Tokmar lobhe kobi chitae na buk
Teji tini tothagoto lekhe tomsuk (Teji)
5 6
In the desire of medals poet does not show arrogance
He who is bold writes down the security bond of Tathagata
Pran jodi nodi hoe swachho kushiara
Fenil sagore chhote ananta michhil
Kirtinasha buk hobe shoniter dhara
Sufola juboti jeno dakatia bil. (Droho)
(If life is like a river, transparent Kushiara
Eternal procession goes on in the frothy sea
Devastating bosom will flow streams of blood
Golden damsel is but devouring marshland.)
Ekdin eisob purano dolil
Pure hobe Bhasmasat byartho hahakare
Tobuo samudragami amader asha
Rakhha pabe nammudra kaler bichare. (Jiboner Noisogari: dui)
(One day all these old documents
Shall be burnt to ashes in futile lamentation
Still our hopes run towards ocean
Shall be saved for triffle in the judgement of Time,)
Quoted above are not outstanding in rhyming but also are dazzling in
poetical metre. Here lies the dexterity of Tapan Bagchi. The types of
unequal metrical unit the readers want to read in the poems, they will
surely find that in Tapan's poems. In the poems written in adipoyar style
we can see- bhugole (3)/ kole (2), buk (2)/ tamsuk (4), Kushiara (4)/ dhara
(2), Michhil (3)/bil (2). Creation of such unequal metrical units in poems
are really expresses the modernity and prowess of the poet.
After the 14 bear adipoyar, there are poems on 18 beat poyar - these are 17
in numbers: Antarikkho, shuddhosrote, Shankhodhwani, trishna, Shoroshi,
Nodikahini: dui, tin and char, Kobi Tridib Dastidar, Opraptir Alo,
Yantrakahini: ek and dui, Shamsunnahar: dui, Ausundor nache, Jaban,
Shahbagh: ek, Chokh Roddurer dike. But Noukakando kan be treated as
18-beat poyar poem because this 12-lines poem have last line in 14-beat.
22-beat poyar poems are Bodhghuri, Janmadine, Yantrakahini: panch,
Yantrakahini: dosh and Kobira brahman hoe- these six poems. Though
writen in prosaic style Bharatbarsher kobi have 22-bit poyar style.
Ei Shohore, Kobitar Aturghare, Kemon Acchi Kothae Acchi, Rinmangal,
Brishti, Fagun smriti, Dheuer fenae, padachhap, Barshaparae, Likhuk,
Likhte din- all these ten poems are writren in swarbritto. Though written in
swarbritto, Rinmangal has 5-beat matrabritto rhyme. Jiboner noishogari:
tin is written in mixed rhyme.: first two lines written in 6-bit matrabritto
and last line in 14-beat okkhorbritto.
Keya-kata, Abahoni, Yantrakahini: seven and Chashabad are written in 6-
bit matrabritto and Tomar Songit and Sudhu Jol are written in 7-bit
matrabritta. Other poems are written in 14, 18 or 22 bit Free verse rhymes.
Ekhane Manush, Ichher bhrun, Akash, Padma O Chander Joubon, Dadhichir
Har Chai, Sonali Ashukh, Kholabazar, Shahbagh: dui, Chhilar moto Phul
Phuteche, Opekkhay Achi, Unnyon-Gobeshona, Yantrakahini: chhoe,
Sangskritic Somikkha and Sokol Nodir Nam Ganga Chhilo are written in
prosaic verse. The poet is expert in metrea and rhyme so his poems shows
sudued rhythm. So it is no sheer prose these are prosaic verse.
Madhumati nadir name joler mishti swad
Ekhono royeche kina janina
Kirtinasha tar nam
Swarthok koreche okhore okhore (Sokol Nodir Nam Gonga chhilo)
(The inebriated taste of the waters of Madhumati
I do not know whether it remained now or not.
It was called all-devastating
Was rightly names to the truest term.)
Fulbarite kalo kalo ful futeche
Khanpure, chhoto bukchi ar golappure ghure
Ami dekhechi seisob fuler gondho jhule achhe (Chhilar moto ful Futechhe)
(Black flowers bloom in Fulbari
In Kanchpur little bukchi and Golappur
I saw fragrance of those flowers are suspended.)
As is in the equal-lined brittyo metre poems, Tapan is also dexterous in
writing inequal-lined poems too, such as-
Ei hasi ei gan, buker roktomakha ei rongtuli
Chhuye jae jotharuchi thont, chokh, buker mahima
Baki thake obhiman, pronoyer bima
ki kore purno kori somoyer jhuli? (Bodh)
(This mirth, this melody, this hued brushes smeared with blood of heart
Touched this succulent lips, eyes, charm of heart
Only conceit remain, insurance of love
How could I fill the baggage of Time?)
Jekhane sulov shakkhi rajpoth, michhiler mukh
Ongikare murto hoe praner slogan
Pother prachir gori nirbikar, manina panini
Shudhu kori oniket jiboner gan (Ketoki O Radhachura)
(Where priceless witness is avenue, faces of procession
5 6
Slogans of life enlivens with promise
Boundery of path is devoid of feelings, I do no accept Panini
Lets sing songs of homeless life.)
Here too we see the dexterity of the poet in coining equality in end word
rhyming, Rangtuli/jhuli, Mahima/bima, slogan/gan.
In rhymed swarobritto poems almost all poems are equal-lined. Only a few
greater poets could show their efficiency in writing inequal-lined poems
with swarbritto writings. Here, lets see what Tapan has done-
Tomar kotha japte dhore ek sokaler smriti
Sorol sukhe subash chhorae pronoyer udhriti . .
(Your words embrace mmories of a single morn
Simple happiness dialogue of love delivers fragrance)
We find mid-breaking in the word 'udhriti'. In swarbritto writings this type
of inequal-lined metrical design is very rare, only stronger poets showed
such efficiency.
Judging the above matters, we can say that Tapan Bagchi showed his
dexterity in all kinds of metres and rhymes, but he has fascination in
writing akkhobrittio sonnet types of poeems.
Sudhindranath Datta wrote, 'In my judgement, dexterity in poem writing is
easiness in metres and calculating the value in the firte of Time, so
standard of contemporary poetic askings depends on judgement of metre.'
In the ninetieth decade of last century, anarchgy of metrical irregularity,
the advent of a poet like Tapan Bagchi is unthinkable,. but it was inevitable
and this poet is going of satisfying the desire of poetry-lovers.
Though the language-prosperity does not only depend upon metrical
charms. Sudhindranath Datta, Shamsur Rahaman, Al Mahmud and
Humayun Azad commented and supported that a poetry turns into a poetry
only when it contains the most inevitable component - metre. If the poetry
of a poet does not contain upoma (simile), utprekkha (metaphor) rupok
(allegory) protik (symbol) somasokti (personification) onyasokto
(metaphorical adjective) and does not contain chitra (image), chitrakalpo
(imagery) and mithkolpo (myth) then his poetics can not be judged well.
Tapan Bagchi has snatched the highest seat of greatness among all other
contemporary poets of his time. It can be seen that Tapan is happy in using
uncommon rhetoric than common ones in his writings, so it attracts the
readers more.
Some of his rupok-somokti-onyasokto in Tapan's coinage can be seen here Sense
(some of which are freally unique) - Tumul Ketoki, Ulango dupur, sonali
oshukh, rupali dohon, nobina sokal, dhusor agami, ohonkari sobuj,
jolouka-poran, pronoyer bima, somoer jhuli, sabuj rode, peshir folok, Long terrace of time paints your name
buker mohima, borofer obhiman, lohit khoron, ononto shaon, protyoyer Geriatric time haunts me
tika, oniket jiboner gan, iccher bhrun, lajuk chhaya, dtishtir dheu, etc. etc. My beloved is more than my expectation
Poet turns irrational in his creation.
Some true comments have turned into suggestive due to artistic
presentation: This laughter, songs, all the paints and brushes of my bosom
Je jabe se jabe, tate dukho keno buke Touches my tastes, lips, eyes and heart
Ami to sukhe achhi Anonto asukhe (Anonto Asukhe) Only pique lefts befind, assurance of love
(He who goes, shall go why then do you lament How can I fill the basket of time?
I am happy immersed in lifelong unhappyness.)
Priotoma, tumi tomar komol hate This garland of words, lovable melodious songs
Chhuye dao ei trishito hridoekone Some comes to light, some remain obscure of senses.
Jotota somoy rekhechhi kobitakhate
Purnata pak shobder Horijon (Abahoni)
(Hey Lover, you in your softened hand
Touch my trirsty heart
The time I've kept in poem's chapter
Let my words become filled up.)

Tapan Bagchi hjave to spend more time in poems. His poems should not be
suppressed under multifarious writings, as can be seen with poet Anisul
Haque. His poetic writings have been suppressed under, novels, dramatics
and journalism).
I have become over-joyed to know that fifty of his poems are being
translated into English. I congratulate novelist and translator Siddique
Mahmudur Rahman for turning these poems into English for the English-
speaking people. Bangla literature is really rich, but its exposure in
international arena has not been focussed. Siddique Mahmudur Rahman is
making great efforts in focussing Bangla literature by translating some of
the good works. I thank him and wish him every success.

5 6
 In this city
Who is happier than me in this city today
Under the lime sunlight of late afternoon, a hint of ruined moon
Is peeping like a veiled bride
This is the first meet with me in new identity.
Everyday I make error in lesson of numerals
You knew, but added your lovely life with me
Mistaken bumble bee, was it too offence
To search for in last night
You are my desired face, image found in dreams
I surrender all the submission of my heart in your name
I was wake late night feeling fragrance of flowers
There’s exalted preparation of coming of Falgun in this city.
5 6
Ketaki and Radhachura
a.
Cardigan of belief wears robust Ketaki
Soundless words were spoken cross-eyed
I havn’t seen bleeding of somebody’s heart
How could a wide chest expand with wrath!
Still I donot know nature of eternal humanity
How a lips twist with pain.
How long sighs come out of a heart
Painful monument is erected in the bunch of hair.
Haughty summer may have grown in the heart
Uneding flood should have the demand of the day.
Endless Shaon shall befall the earth
Open up the dried keys of the heart.
r.
Where a bunch of Radhachura bloom on the green grass
Silent grass are red in protest
First love can develop on proud greenery
Youthful morning splits feelings of shame.
Where remains awake co-fighter Aslam
Flame of courage light inside the heart
Tomorrow four eyes will meet heartily
Signs of trust will be drawn on fearless forehead
Where priceless witness if avenue, faces of procession
Slogans of life enlive with promise
Boundery of path is devoid of feelings, I do no accept Panini
Lets sing songs of homeless life.
 Here is humanbeings
Here innocent children are the object of lust
Here corpses of foetus lay without care
Here bodies are sold all the times to save the body
Here requirement of oxygen for breathing are very scarse.
Here a man turns assassin within a wink on a eye
Here man robs beggers in the street in broad daylight
Here a man can not be a man easily.
Heard one day man was really a man
Heard his glorious episodes of evolution
And when I came to know that
Out proudest ancestors were apes
For that day I threw away the golden desire
Of becoming human beings in the secret water of Arialkhan.
5 6
In Eternal Ailment
I’ll not send letters to your address
Blood circulation in the heart has stopped
I’ll not get you for geographical difference
Frutless searching, Useless turmoil.
I’ll not call with gifted nane
Forgot all decorative words of the lexicons
Suddenly you became history
There’s no savings for the poster ity.
So many nights passed keeping this hand on your’s
I don’t want shadow of strange trees anymore.
Why do I care for mundane desire?
Let our innovative union become history
Why lament for whome who will depart
I remain satisfied with eternal ailment.
 Guidance
Anil Datta used to teach me Bangla. When I was trying to complete the
last phase of my school, he was an avid student of teachers training at
Dhaka. One day I got his letter with imitable handwriting through the hand
of Nikhil postman. Teacher Anil wrote to his favourite student, `Keep on
studying, Son. Concentrate on religious practice’ I failed to make out of his
letter at that time completely. I couldn’t find out the relation between
education and religiouous practice. I couldnot had courage to aske
anybody about this. Though, to show respect to teacher Anil or to get
better marks in the exam I tried to memorise answers of religious subjects.
In the final exam I passed the ecxam with distinction marks.
Still now I am sitting for the final examinations everyday. I have many
answers books strewn all over my table. Still now I secure distiction marks
in all the examinations of religion, but I couldn’t pass. Now I can make out
the moral of the advice of teacher Anil gradually little by little.
5 6
Recognition
[Architech Sabina Hai Urbi, to whom I am her only brother]
When desire dances on the green terrace of heart
Strings of guitar is strewn over Arialkhan
I walk through the banks of Shipra
Sprightly waters of cataract on Ujjaini
Letter of affection comes in lovable wrapper.
I want to get address of Iti like this
Nobody remains unfriendly, if I come closer
Even then if entire beautification withers out before evening
Neighbour Mamata also wants to be my sister through blood relation
Nails of stone scratch into heart
Can’t the limits of peace touch me?
tremendous lyrics bloom into t5he blue sky
Remains awake whole night rubbing rhythm of Purabi
Like the lightening flickers in the darkness
Sometimes lights up the earthen light of Deepali
Obstinate rains of Shraban does know how to stop
Watery shy doesn’t know to forgive me
Coverings of affection spreads in rain and sunlight.
 Prickle of Keya Resemblance

Traveller walks on through the borders of the path

I’ve confered upon flower unlovable illusttation
Two black eyes do not remain waiting staring at the road
Well then, Oh, shall you tear apart the pictures?
Smoky future dwindle between expectation and despair
I never thought me Tulsi leaves
Dusty road still does not go astray
Why do you then wear barks of folly?
Tired traveller stops at the turning of the path
Fitreflies of vigorous aspiration live on
Flower does not know titsy mischief
Inside the body unknown prickle is felt
Poet knows addresses of follies!
Travelling goes on with hoary flame
Arts and Artifacts! Promised love
Idiots do not play chess
Thirsty heart does not touch fkowing water
Ektara is heard in the atmosphere
I love sundormed innocent face
I got the green addressed light
But blushing cup of flowery lips, dazzling white kisses
Let the thorn of Keya prick me
Smile like the painted Jui Eris
Let the abyss be filled up wth sapphire venom
I love to be nursisus always.
Still let the beloved fragrant face come near.

5 6
 Tree of Suffering
1
My tree of suffering grows up for not seeing you
Whereever you go – usual commotion of your friends, year-ending picnics
or whenever lovely closeness of your parents takes you apart, emptiness
hounds my entrails. Even cool tonics of Probodh couldn’t make me sleep. I
want to go near with immense attraction. If I don’t see you I feel lone
closeness. And this wretched scene makes you jealous.
My tree of suffering goes on growing.
2.
We go on swiming through lecture-theatre, Madhu’s Canteen and
monotonous foyer of Ramna drenching with the shades of sufferings.
Every mid-day we want to offer our offerings on the cool-sacred feet of
love.
And like this may be one day deluge will wipe out our joined rivers and
sunflowers and Ketaki will smile in the courtyards.
Thirsty chataks speak of this incident.
5 6
Valient
(To Poet Golam Kibria Pinu, my adorable)
In the Tribeni Sangam today is a fair of fire
Tanpura alone plays passionately devotedly
Processions of water call out with ailing sound
Within this hubbub I seek for melody of Ruchita
Brilliant time is here at Gokul before me
The country comes to know through the turnapatra
Entire gathering are boiling with exaltation
Still there remain some misgivings
In my dream lives thousands of
Faces of expeties. They wear
Dresses adorned with layers-- where's poverty?
Who were to blame for usurption?
Poet do not boast in aspiration of decoration
He is valient, Tathagata writes a note of hand.
 Topical
(To Poet Rabindra Gope, my respectful)
The rulers were scared of one single stanza
The seat of the Devi dwindle with the North nind
The poet goes to exile in industrial city
The rimes do not care for any dreadful episode
The art do not listen to ant uniformed order
Hunger of the pen lies in the muddy streams of Rupsa
Vast universe lies above the vast field
Revolting gunpowder gather on the eyes of the ocean
High blood pressure of Madhabi shievers
Still does the speed of the writttings stops?
Smiling Rabindranath contemplates on the table
The Bodhi tree stoops with naked shame.
5 6
Light of Unattainment
Stains of incomplete kiss is smearing on this lips
You have moved away your embarrassed face
Who else exposes her limbs openly?
I'm but an unskilled labour, I am not sold in the market.
May be you have moved away desiring more and more
the days that have elapsed do not return
Soreness of memory knocks at the closed door
Coating do not cover the infinite deep scar.
We have last met twelve long years ago
We have not opened the secret chambers of our to each other
Let those be unopened, let those be unknown
Shameless critics smiles in the disguise of friemd
Lets be happy with the little you have got in your hands
Unattained light flicker behind the desire of more.
 One Single Rose
I walk everyday under the naked Sun
On the right lies a wooden apple
Seed of Amra
I never saw Raktakarabi beside the street
I acquire only whiteness paying love
Enchanting fragrance of the flower named after you
O Saint, O dear, O you sacred script
Thristy damsel returns back coming near Ketaki
One Rose and
A devout damsel
Bend down beside the shadow of the Sun.
5 6
Twenty first
O my ownership, my atlas
Recognition of freedom flies on your geography
I won you with all the stake of my life
Still blue key hangs on the black door.
My beloved Liberation is washed with supreme sacrifice
Gradually diminishing my exhistance
O my twenty first storage of knowledge
Drought befall upon us at the wrath of the Nature.
 Melody of Harmfulness
May be I'm a harmful man
I sing Bhairabi putting up all my pain on my hands
And swim on the blue lake of Amazon
Or cross the mountain with Anabis
May be my heart is harmful
never ooze out a few drops of emotions
The Baul wind blow over the nate-Spring rays of Sun
And tries to erect an hamstead in the lungs
I am but a destroyed youth
Pain erupts on the face of devastation
Buds of Keya will never bloom on the harmful breast.
5 6
Rain
We came closer with the gushing rain
Surrendering to the rain
One day I hide my body inside
The hood of Rickshaw/
Oh! If it rained every asternoon !
To keep up the warmth of relations
Who desired to struggled so hard!
Today when I thought of you
Rain splatter down on my courtyard
Dipped down into the Splashing water
Hoards os rickshaws comes up rushing.
 Golden Ailment Our Songs

After three and a half yeras Thoughts of my mind that were kept with great care
I met with a golden diisease Dazzle al the time with the emotions of Rays of Sin
Let the evil winds beacon at me
Heated discussions and I invite you in the musical soiree.
Sharp debates were carried out
Bitter dry dialogues went on for fifty six fractions of the day The lyrics of the songs want to escape
Blue ripples of the river want to escape too
Could the fragrance of blooming Keya Where the roads end, let these beging again
Can cover up all my ailments I'm a forgetful traveller, nobody can find me.
Could change secret saplings of life
I will be only too happy. Let your feelings bing my heart
I love to listen to the melody in lonesome atmosphere
Long Live O Golden Ailment. This is my prayer, This is my desire
Let your songs bring jingle in my heart.

5 6
 How Could I Feel Still then Why

What is woven on the lawn of lips, Outside the glass-pane of night Glows every event
Is it waves of desire of flawless body? Waves of thirsty eyes swivel diagonally
Then how could I feel Aged geko cry out painfully from time to time
Fire breed up in your body, revolution, The dews search abodes under the slumber.
Drought, sweat of Boishakh and sniveling?
Who are you search for sacred ripples of desire.
Is the stanzas of wailing of enormous breast Valour are the pseudo name of masculinity
Are imprinted on the canvas of eyes I am here is the drinking pot creative devotional diety
Then how could I feel Know the value of pinful necter.
That there is love, piety
And ripples of Shravan and screams of Aus! Ketoki remains in my flesh and essence
Why theb weeps garland, hymen hide in the sky.
Are the rise and fall, happy life
Marked on the atlas of your palm?
Then how could I feel
That heart bears faith and language
Have pique and arousal, smile of spotless Radhachura!

Does the hasty foot-prints of uncertain life

Are written on the wrinkles of forehead?
Then how could I believe
That heart has vitality, melody
Has family, lively lovingness!

5 6

Who knows
Who knew there's acute liquid venom on the prikle of Keya
Burns the body, scorches the soft heart day and night
Who knew there's wild emarald shade in the boughs of Keya
My verdant body darkens in chill and heat
Who knew Keya's fragrance is intoxicating
Stupid heart gets invogorated instantaneously
Who knew in Keya bough rises on its roots
They do not budge at great heave of love
Who knew there are concentrated delight on the prickle of Keya
Shall cry out, 'I love' as soon they are pulled apart..
5 6
Unexposed
Have written four poems ninty nights ago
Periodicals did not published these four poems
These still had the fragrance of new-born babe
The table can not bear the pain of non-publishing agony.
That furtive soreness is wiped out this morning
They let me know the assurance from my dear periodical
As if Chand-trader offers his offering-flower to Manasha
My poem will be printed today, likewise.
Eyes of editor became puzzled with my rhymes
He thought rhyme means these are nursury rhymes
He finds more eminent peopleare praising
How could the head of dwarf hide the hatred
I will thus not write another unpublished poem
Let my flatter-lover friend learn the creativeness of rhymes.
 Tribute to Distance
I return back, after going too near
At last the distance wins
If everyday the distance grows more and more
Shall I get in touch of deserted sky!
Virtuous Earth wants to touch the azure sky
The horizon, therefore, engulfs it from all sides
So you can see the amity of the Earth ans Sky
Still they remain untouched.
In every moment I stay in the layout of my bosom
Don't you know that cherished history?
How far is Khajuraho?? Where's Kamakhya??
5 6
Temple of Slumber
After I saw your pain-striken face lying on the white bed of the hospital, I
felt I am looking at a suddenly stopped fondling waterfall inside my heart.
Does the cataracts know, how the ripples of the srteems takes up the speed
coming up from so deep under and speedily advances ahead with pleasure?
They disappear untimely because they do not know that.
THe cataracts are to me dreamy memories and live thousands of years in
the name of painful life. The cataracts are to me loveable hidden delight.
The cataracts are to me like a exquisite idol of my sister. Let all the sisters
become the Deity of Cataracts.
Today I call all the Cataracts in the name of incredible, pleasant, serene,
beneficient, to my heart. May be I shall not get her in unsuitable hour of
the day- still this exploration, still from my heart I want to place my chaste
prayer at this spontaneous temple of dreams.
 All the rivers were named Ganga
All the rivers were called Ganga.
Arial Khan flowed past my house
In earlier days I used to play whole days on its waves
With the rowing boats
Nearby I saw the weary bodies of the potters
Thet too were intoxicated with the beauty of thge Padma
In their youthful days.
The inebriated taste of the waters of Madhumati
I do not know whether it remained now or not.
It was called All-devastating
Was rightly names to the truest term.
I have firgotten the names of Bhagirathi or Alakananda
Somebody call Ganga as Padma in error
Ganga of Bangladesh flows slower
Meets with Yamuna-meet in the name of Padma.
I see Shalikh and Chil in the banks of Hunda river
They were renmed further with a prerfix of 'Gang'
I haven't heard the term river from my grandfather
All through his life he traded crossing the 'Gangs'
I have fread the life history of the rivers
I have to cross through the Chotogang in my boyhood
And go to Borogang singing Sarigan on Sari boat
On the Regatta I used to play Tikara.
We call Kumar a gang, even the Arial Khan is a Gang too
Gang is derived from Ganga
Gang means all the flowing rivers of the world
Some day all the rivers were called only Ganga.
5 6
Yatrakahini: Six
When I was in class nine, I memorized, 'All the times O River, you visit
my heart'. I've learnt three sighs of Michael Madhusudan Datta's life from
my teacher Anilkrishna Datta. The first one was, Michael wanted to earn
millions of money, but he couldn't even earned thousands. Secondly, he
wanted to become an world famous English poet, but he turned into
slightly-honoured Bengali poet. And I can not recollect the third of his
sighs. There is fine touch of modesty in his sighs or regret. Michael earned
or could earn a lot, but couldn't tried to keep it. And not as a slightly-
honoured Bengali poet, his fame touched the British heart as one of the
greatest poet of Bengali language,
I have to honor to met this Michael on the stage of Yatra at the Ganesh
Pagla's Fair at Kadambari. The same hair-style! the same beard! that same
polished dress and that very pronunciation! The image that developed in
my mind, here that did not deviate a little. Micheal walking past, talking,
writing down, dictating three of his literature to tuft-headed Brahmins at a
time. Correcting the scholars. I was enthralled to see the Mohakabi
Madhusudan play! When poverty-striken Michael spoke to Devaki putting
his hand on her sholder, 'Devaki, Tomai ami debo ki?' (What shall I give
you?). The pronunciation and difference in meaning of the words 'Devaki'
and 'Debo ki', whithout studying metrics, the alliteration made me
fascinated me tremendiously. I feld the emotion of poetic urge building in
me. Michael beacons me to play with words. The stage of Yatra of the fair
attracts me. I return home with intoxication.
Nexy day I found a man holding his little daughter's hand talking to
somebody. The same voice like Michael. My friend standing by said,
'Look, that's Michael of yesterday! Amalendu Biswas.'
Amalendu is, to me, today's Michael. I've seen Michael on the stage. I'm
seeing Amalendu walking. Amalendu is Michael of my life.
 Shahbagh - One
I've listed my name in the family category taking wife and son.
Still I was not in a habit to return home early.
I am always late in returning home.
Does anybody recons how many sin clings to the nightly walls
What trashes I have written on the dried leaves of time
Avenues, Shahbagh and colourful decor are beconing me.
My unspoken words fly away in faraway distance
Everything is stored in the great volume of Eternity.
5 6
Stream Tale - One
(To poet Anjan Shaha, the most revered)
Three damsels walk by the river bank
One smears her hand with flying dust
Paints her forehead with a victorious sign
The joyous Bulbuli flys away in happy mood.
Three damsels were sitting by the river bank
One casts her eyes to the sky, her bun of hair opens up
She only hears the sounds of devastation
In her bosom blooms soft blossom of soreness.
Three youth comes to the riverside hastily
One plunges into the vastnees of water
A deathless cross was boiund on his left hand
We end up our clapping hands gradually.
Foolsh child I am, a devotee of streem
I only gaze, there's much more that remained unseen.
 Girl - Damsel - Woman Fruit-bearing

Hey lady, how long shall you remain a girl

My northern sister arrives at the secong season
It's time to become a - damsel
She is habitual in visiting her brother's abode
Prepare a Charyagan, bangle of time
Three layers of water breaks us in laughter
Wear an anklet and walk in the valient noon
My rooms start enjoying water celebrations
May your heart turn into pious sobre tributary Madhumati.
After three months of festivity friends of my sister
Hey lady, how long shall you remain a damsel
Leave for their husbands house to the South
It's time to become a - young woman
They leave behind all the signs of heir presence
Drink classical resonance of living
Takes away mother's ornaments by loving force.
Paint strange man on palm of your hand
Throw your bemused dart in the water of estuary.
On each visit she creates loving annoyance
She knows how to seize up her claim
Hey lady, how long shall you remain a young woman
I do not have the courage to resist her
It's time to become a mistress
I indulgently accepts the rule of Nature
Unfasten all the gates of your body
I'll only take the diging aroma with my eyes
Still, she is my sister, have obtainer her by blood
And see how prepared the crop-growing ground is.
The name of my sister is Unfortune Flood.

5 6
 I do not have a Chair
I do not have a chair
So I pass my days-months and years
Without sitting on a chair
My friends can to meet me at my office
And exchange their ideas with me.
I have to write keeping papers on my palm
Whatever the writing look like
The handwriting does not look nice.
I write on accepting all these disadvantages
And go on writing like this.
I was about to spit on the face of that person
who has taken away my chair, but resisted
If my chair was not taken
Then I couldn't have managed chairs for others.
5 6
Melody of Debt
You have captivated me with your dialogue
You didn't kept your promise at night
I have all my liability at that dialogue
Whether this debt has the tendency to pay back?
I know there's some debt in the family
But they do not get heavy with times
Even it was it do not harass at all
I follow the procedure of simple interest
Whoever comments about it, I don't panic
I have the pride of arrears.
 Legend of Night
Yesterday a tender night came near my bed
And lay silently
Emotion of one night engulfed me
A gentle night
Took out the volume of tears
From both of my eyes.
Lotus bloom at night
This night loves the timid smilew of Rajanigandha
This night sing the songs of Lalan-
"Hey crazy, ye know not your own destination
Where shall ye go?
If ye won't know your abode
You'll fall in sleight".
This night makes the gorgeous night weep.
One ritual jight came to my room
Yesternight turned out to be the legend of life
Legend of one night gathers in the quarters of life.
5 6
Open Market
Our rights are being sold in the open market
On scorching rays of Sun, I walk through the alleys
And sell the sayings of Khana.
Khemta-dancing girl still do not stop.
Confidence develops obesity by sitting idly.
Hunger-diminiting night tells up
The story of slothness of awakening
I sit under the shack and lesten to it silently.
Those who make slight of us thinking us
Sheer unimportant
Those love to make fool of us
The Struggling people prepare themselves
With the fishing net for those
Giant traditional deep water fishes.
Our rights are being sold in the open market
 Embryo of Desire
If you do not come in the morning rays of the Sun
Empty plate will remain empty, conceited rice
Timid shadow of light boiled egg, and olide will become crimson with anger
Conceit of the stars The water-fall will not dance in the bath-room.
Smiles of the moonbeam
And the silent weeping of dark night. If you do not come today even after after promising
The belief will die in fruitless love
Embrace me with dream-striken eyes. The desire will burn down to ashes
Stupid heart will be termed unfaithful.
If night was more lengthy
More lengthy If you do not come today at this moment
And more . . Unbloomed flower will be termewd sapphire curse
I should have reached the milkyway of dreams The attractive memories will turn out to be alert assassin
Vibrant smile and warmth of the lips will be wiped out.
Riding on the shoulder of mysterious night.
If you do not come overlooking the known path
To tell the truth, as I have dreams The clouds will be unmindful, The worms will hide
I remain alive The hairs of eighteen-year-old will get matted.
You are alive. The moon will take refuge from the vast sky.
Human beunbgs live.
If you do not come adoring the songs
Long-expected field will get scorched in yellow rays of Sun
Time do not change the course with the command of our desire The touch-loved door locks will not ring out in love
They walk The heart will remail shut for good.
Stop
Move If you do not come, O my companion of time
In their conventional path. The Sun-shine will be absent regularly from today
There's no wink or beacon behind that. The lights will not illuminate in the cornices of night
The crickets will sing the hurting memody.
Still in the sky of Ikarus,
I do not know why, If you do not come with the fragrance of Ketaki
The foetus of desire wants to stretch its wings. The bumble bees will not get intoxicated
The Earth will be filled with painful songs
In thiese days I like the silence of the night more The celestial bodies will not raise their anchor of time.
Than the livelyness of the day.
If you do not come any more, ever
Emerald youthful memories will not diminish
Moment's love will remain as lifelong debt
The heart's injury shall not be forgotten.
If you do not Come

5 6
 Inquiry
I turn out to be the drops of coolness
Where you want to alleviate your body
I become the soothing matress
Where you want to recline your weary body
I am the finely-spun cloth
With which you want to hide your nudity
I become the ever exalting waves
In which river you want to go for a dip
I become the notaion of the hymn
Which you want to take up in your voice.
How dare you disregard me then.
5 6
Autobiography
I get awake with the call of Gecko
The fireflies dance opening the barrier of their heart
Non-township villages sing the song of cities
Beloved glass-city lies beside the residence
Youth of story myself write melody of waiting
The difurcated cloud fly to the illumination of senses
Who are you damsel of folowery names
Why do you call me at time late hours
You leave the village of woodland in love of garden
Hey luxurious, in what attraction do you float the sampans.
 Bose Cabin You stare at Sunshine
(To poet Ashish Sanyal)

When I went to Bose Cabin of Narayanganj to have kebab

I met you about two years ago Your eyes are stretched faraway at the sunlight
We never met again In the muddy-path of this burnt-up country- as if a Nagar-baul
Where do you keep on hiding in this little city? All the melodies of the songs be sung in the voices of the Cuckoo
You have to write on, have to pay the taxes of life.
I go to Bose Cabin to meet you
All the respectable connoisseurs of food of this city come here Then you might get leave, can get amnesty,
Only you never come again This dear Earth might accept to all your desires
Whatever you have gave to literature, and which have been gathered so far
Why did I go there, for kebab or for you Time only know, for all these, what you shall get back in return.
You know not
How could others know it
I saw once waking past the corridor of Bose Cabin
I couldn't talk to you
I didn't know whether you glanced at me or not
If you did, did you memorized it I know not
Whereas I visit Bose Cabin only for you
I eat kebab and wait patiently

Shall you wear a sari!

Why then your lips quiver?
I waited from the morning
Bose Cabin is happy to-day!

5 6
 The Sky, the Padma and the mellowness of Moon
Where the sky touched the Padma
Why there's deluge of crimson colour?
In the eyes of twilight glow
I desire of art
O Padma. shall you let me dip into you?
Clouds, of white, black, red and blue colours
Lick out all the sweetness your face
Why there's fiery glow on the full moon?
I burn with jealousy, I am hurt all through
Shuvra's lips are like eleven days moon
My beloved is worth looking
O moon, open your windows.
My heart have emotion of Perciphena
At its back mellowness of moon is seen
Enchanting hands stretch at dask
O sky remove your veil
Let me find a place to hide my face.
5 6
Illicit Language
My poet-friends want to develop a new dialect
The effort is unique
We know Rabindranath, Nazrul, JIbanananda and Jasim's seperate
language
Rahaman and Goon's language has also got a different style
Mahadev's language is also quite different
My friends while going on searching new terms
Has turned into illicit relation
I do not want to find any abnormal relation
before marriage
I all ages before marriage and in later years
There's ample opportunity to develop abnormal relation
But normal relation is only acceptable after legal marriage.
 One Mehrab Ali Through Drowsiness

One Mehrab Ali is lying on bed, he is sick,

His son, who returned from Canada, is flying kites in the field
One Mehrab Ali was tired in searching the time-span of Kantaji's temple,
His written ducuments on aborogines of Dinajpur were stolen
All his records were dumped under hundreds of years of newspapers
Before going to sleep I pass through drowsiness
Before that I surrender myself to silence
There's no soundlessness so I go to silence
As I am not friendless, so I return from drowsiness
I fall into sleep, to intense darkness.

Two PhD poet-researcher recently are looking for Mehrab Ali at Dinajpur
Household women informs every visitor that he is very sick
It is impossible to see him, even permission can not be obtained
Desire to take photograph with him might get discarded.

One Mehrab Ali has seen so many things and discovered many a thing
But who'll take the responsibility of not be fufiling
the happiness of meeting him?
With the care and nursing of household women Mehrab Ali
probably will live a few more days
But pens and cameras could let him live more days
Or a feature in the media page of 'Amader Somoye'
The household women do not know that information!

One Mehrab Ali is lying poorly in his bed

His son after returning from kite festival promised me
He'll send me as gift a book of his father by Katatoa Courier service.

5 6
 Kathchampa
This little flower kathchampa
See her great audacity
One shall not find weight of her smle in the shop
So it remain hanging behind the leaves
I tear a petal from her and wrote on it
A gorgeous damsel of that name
Marrying her, I remain with her all through my life
Smile of my flower
Costs me a lot in exchange of my love
She is but a seductive secret lover
with flowery fragrance.
5 6
Crown of Wind
I wore the coronet of wind today
I go out upstream through the dusty path
I didn't go to hills
I bathe with the water of well
I pour down my devotion to the high tide of memorous river
Ganga and Padma are two twins
I am the son of this soil
I keep my head on your bosom
I weave in dream journey through the sea
I nevcer went to Kakdwip
I thought We'll meet at the shoal of Mainamati
I prepared rinsed paddy and green grass.
 Queen of Nachole
The queen of Nachole used to go through this road
I too walked past this road
And contemplated surely children of the queen
Could have still preserved their courage and grievances
Where the name of a piece of land of this country is named Nachole
Why does the people of the soil sharpen the swords
Sitting on the courtyard of the house one becomes queen
And sitting on he throne some mother
Becomes out and out despotic.
'
5 6
Today in intense Rain
Let everything wipes out in intense rain
Let the dejected face of the city be washed out
Cleanse the superfluous wasted fancy
Dissolve doqn the sand-strewn brick-roads
In this city everything gets wet in rain
The avenues, turmoil, meetings and processions
All the merchandise of the shops were blown out
But a few people do not get soiled.
 Today I soak in the Rain
I walk through the city soaking in rain
Tied up umbrella lay in my dangling bag
The dusts has turned into thick sticky mud
I roam through the streets bare footed
Rains of childhood days seems to pour down today
I could see the Koi fish, with its gills,
Move through the watery yards in packs
They still remain static in my memory.
Its rain all night, which means, its a dreamy morning
I turn out to be a restless child when its rain.
5 6
The Translator
SIDDIQUE MAHMUDUR RAHMAN, a researcher, an author, a translator, an editor
and publication specialist, was born in 4 September 1946 in Jessore. He had his
school education from Kolkata during 1953-65. He had his BA degree in 1969,
but could not complete MA due to Liberation War. He had his B.Ed degree in
1978 and MA in English in 1980. He published ‘Asian Voice’ a pen-friendship
magazine during 1966-1980. He worked in establishing Danbir Hazi
Mohammad Mohsin High School at Murali, Jessore during 1975. He worked in
different organizations in administration, printing, publishing, editing and
translation during 1980-2006.
Since 1987 Siddique was a pioneering researcher on postage stamps, postal service,
coins and currencies of Bangladesh. He has so far 12 research works, 12
Translated works and so far translated about one thousand poems. He has 4
novels, one each book of short stories, poems, Juvenile stories, essays.
Besides he has; 6 Research Papers and 6 edited volumes in his credit. He
was awarded seven times from abroad for his research publications.
Siddique is the Life Member of Asiatic Society of Bangladesh; Bangla Academy;
Bangladesh Itihash Samity; Bangladesh National Philatelic Association;
Philatelists Association of Bangladesh and Editing and Publishing
Association of Bangladesh.
Siddique launched a literary, news and culture website www.trulybangladesh.com
in 2005.
The Poet
TAPAN BAGCHI (Dr.) A prolific poet, author and researcher (born in 1968, 23
October, at Madaripur village Kadambari of Rajoir Upazilla. Father Tushta Charan
Bagchi was in Govt. service and mother Jyotirmaye Bagchi was housewife. Tapan
had his SSC in 1983, HSC in 1985, B.A. in 1991, Masters degree in Journalism and
Mass Communication in 1993 and PhD in 2004.
Tapan had his his first book, an edited publication Ekusher Notun Kabita in 1991.
His creative writings incluse Rukhe Darai Borgi Tarai, 'Charka Buri Orhare
Ghuri, book of poems Ketakir Proti Pokkhopat, Shasmanei Shuni Shankha
Dhwani Antaheen Khaker Govire, Dhaka-London E-mail Chhora, Swapno bona
Tunir Shona (books of rhymes), Sakal Nodir Naam Ganga Chhilo.His research
publications include Rudra Mohammad Shahidullah, research work Trinamul
Sangbadikatar Unmesh O Bikash and Dhaka Nagarir Bahya-ashroykendra: Ekti
somikha, Nazruler Kobitay Shabdalankar published. Biplab Das and Nirbachan
Sangbadikota, Rudra Muhammad Shahidullar Kobita: Chandrahata Abhiman,
Sahityer Samprotik Path, Banglae Uchchoshikhyar Dusho Bochor and Bignan O
Projukti Chinta, Muktijuddhey Gopalganj, Rudra Muhammad Shahidullah: Jibon O
Kobita, Chharasahityer Kirtiman Kandari, Kobi Mohsin Hossain: Sangay O
Progghay (Research) and Anondo Rayer Faridpurer Itihas and Bangladesher
Yantragan: Jonomadhyam O Samajik Poriprekhit published.
He was awarded from home and abroad.

5 6