Poetry from Mahbub

Poet Mahbub
The Music of Pain

The music of pain springs from my face
Everyday every moment the rosy brightness fumbles
My fly ball dream crumbles
I die and hover in the darkness
Oscillating to the light or shade
Eyes fixed at the faraway ancient days
Through the wafts of flowers in the morning air
Once we walked together the long line side by side
Hand in hand
Eyes into the eyes
All on a sudden my soul mate slipped away 
Dashing me into this grave state of mind 
I would like to find out the answer  
Why and how?
Again and again I get back in silence  
No reflection from the waves of the river Padma or Mohananda
My eyes dropping as the rain from the sky 
The music of pain springs from my face 
Everyday every moment the rosy brightness fumbles
How scorching the sun of the noon!

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

Good Bye - Saint Martin

Gazing out at noon I turn back again and again 
Through the window of the ship on departure  
My loving travel spot I'm leaving - breathing sad on the flowing waves
How wonderful the sky! How wonderful the blue water!
The ocean blowing the same like that time
When I came here a few years ago
How change I look to follow
The Resort Buildings, the schools, the madrashas or the bushes, the corals, the shops, the life of the people, the palm and other trees  
Thinking all suddenly my eyes caught up three ocean birds over Saint Martin right at the point where water and the land joins, just one or two kilometers distant water The Three Heavenly Birds welcome me flapping their wings, soaring high and getting down once for all.
Where I go, where I come, I do not find the destiny
I look out the vast sky, the vast water and look on me
O Birds, Can't I reach you?
I don't possess the wings to fly to thee, my love.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

Love Streaming in Rain

You are not that rain
Touching my face flies away soon
A gust of wind leaving me alone
Can you, dear?
I know, you can't
You are my rain pouring in torrent
Drenched in love, the land with its glow 
The new blades of grass and seeds  
In every season and out of season
The flowers blooming in the sun
Bestows in happy ending.  
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

The Paharpur Buddhist Vihara

Thousand -year- history hidden in every brick bond
O Paharpur Buddhist Vihara, the rock in the moon
The light you spread once all over the South-East Asia continent
Still now flowing on waves of the ocean 
Standing still with the glory of the long past
Kissing the shore of the Bay of the Bengal 
The magnificent building and the lofty head over time
All the sacred gods and deities preserved so nicely in the protective glasses
The museum surrounded with the beautiful garden beside the monastery
The World Heritage Site -people from all over the world
Visit and sigh - for all its religious practice, education and astronomy 
Other sectors of secular arts, culture, science and wisdom   
Really even at this time when only its skeleton lives
A place now fully rural but then a kingly state
Shines the kingly body, the gigantic brilliance    
Aristocratic, splendid and grandiose -it was as it were a dream
The king Dharmapala established this kingly monastery (c.781-821)  
A center for the saints, teachers, bards, and many other fans and followers 
Pilgrimage as it was, it gained the cultural value with its teaching-learning process
The Great Buddhist and the two scholars- Silabhadra and Atisa Dipankara 
Among many other renound teachers enlightened its atmosphere
Every brick and the dilapidated structure seem to cry for the glorious past
You stand so high; the pinnacle wants to kiss the sky
Tourists come; tourists go but the waves of the vast ocean 
Never stops to flow.   

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

The Kusumba Mosque

Bees are swarming over head
To enter inside the mosque through the arched door 
I startled at the sight of the honeycomb 
Here and there one two three four in this way 
They are flying and buzzing before my eyes
I went through and looked into the time 1558 AD. 
The reign of Ghyasuddin Bahadur Shah, one of the Afgan kings of Bengal
Built by some Sulaiman following the name of the village, Kusumba
The interior isles, bays and the half round domes can enchant anyone visiting the mosque
The surrounding stones blaze the tradition to generation after generation
The large pond in front of and the trees around with the sweet note of birds
I think of present and past for those who would come to pray
And collect the golden nectar praying to Allah      
Bees are swarming over head - honey filled in the honeycomb
My mind fringed with light and strength.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh