No stream is so much sweet as their voice is;
No nightingale’s song soothing like their call!
I have seen no flowers on earth like them.
No gem I know as precious as they are.
Like hymn, day and night I recite their names.
Within me they stay, they don’t remain far.
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Break down all the walls,
The whole earth is a countryWhere we live.We are the citizensOf one country, one planet.God is our king.Break down all the walls,All the boundaries man-made.Let us live in a border-less human-country.
Round the year, there was the month of flowers;
Once her face was seen among the flowers;Now there my heart cries having lost her for ever.
My heart aches
Putting it on oven.My heart criesFor her who friesPutting it on oven.My heart worships her,For she’s my killer.
Illiterate and impious is he
and his brother runs his familyselling Jhal-Muri*.But you, o the bull of religion,live on selling religion.But you hope they will go to helland you will be rewardedwith the big blue-eyed hoor al-Ayn of paradise.*one kind of Bengali food made of chilly and cereal of rice patched on hot sand
My heart shouting loudly like an ass
.When I close my eyes,It hurts by throwing its legs.If I forbid to stop,It pursues me like a leopard.I ask, ‘What happens to you? ‘It says, ‘I won’t tell you.’‘Let me sleep then’, I say.It says, ‘I won’t let you sleep.’
Addressing me as Stone,
The poor peasants lament everydaycalling me Waste Land.Calling me Burnt Field,the golden shepherd of the rising sungoes back in search of green grass.The broken winged drunk bees lamentcalling me Paper Flower.Women create the storm of safirein the night’s erotic aircalling me Sapless Wood.Once at a spring afternoon,the varsity studying girl Naorojlooking like a ripe Chaltaoffered…