The makers of Bihar’s destiny,
The cowboys, buffalomen.
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Now-a-days it is difficult to find a good reader
And this too has got the worth of its ownWhich they understand it notRather cutting, coying and pastingAnd remixing to be called anew,The same old thing but in a new format.
I will not be here,
When I shall not be.
Whose railway train is this
Father-mother to see?The without-ticket passengersSitting on the seatsGoingAnd those with ticketsStanding on feetAnd the bogies without lightEven sometimes,Without waterAnd none to seeAnd my boarded train taking,Taking meWhere,Where, that I cannot say to youIf,If I shall be able to reach,Reach my destinationOr notAn even if alight I fromThe train at night at the haltWill there be…
Pronab Kumar Majumder first of all is a poet of time,
Gliding and sliding away,Time mechanical,Time worldlyAnd time cosmic too.A poet, he was born in 1941Which finally fell to East Pakistan after the PartitionAnd he came back to CalcuttaTo read on and to continueAnd joined the state level civil serviceTo be promoted to the rank of the special secretary.Pronab is a translator, an editor of his…
I used to think you a flower
Greeting on the pathways,Dancing in the breezeSo mildlyBut to my amazement, what am I viewing,You speaking in capersAfter the late night parties,Returning home drunk,Unable to standAnd I making you stand on feet?Your mouth smelling,The puffs of liquor, I mean alcoholEntering intoAnd I too feeling etherizedUpon a table.My God, where are You,Where to go with this…
Salman Rushdie,
Sketch,Sketch I him,Photograph,Photograph IThe personality of his,A man who has stood forThe freedom of speech and expressionIn the worldWith his guts admirable.