Poetry from Rezauddin Stalin

South Asian man with receding black hair, a mustache, and a grin. He's wearing a blue coat and is standing outside at night under a streetlight near some signage and a street vendor.
Rezauddin Stalin
The Kingdom of Foam

Whom I saw old yesterday
Is young today 
Thinking dead who was buried 
Is walking on the yard
The ill-fated man having no legs is running in the field
Today the vast sand dune is rambunctious with the sea foam
Dead fish are jumping and bathing in the river

Arjuna who never lost his aim
His arrows are aimless
Despite meeting again and again
Radha and Krishna were never in affair
The blind poet Thamyris is looking toward light
Wrinkle skinned Zulekha is 
Becoming young gradually

But Jesus had not yet been taken down from the cross 

From The Stage of Execution

I exactly don’t know why
From behind the prison cell I remember my mother
Mother used to say you know- writing poem doesn’t bring bread and butter
I remained silent in humiliation

But today I have time
I can ask question like a brave son
Mother, who don’t write poems- can they bring bread and butter either

My mother is now counting her last days
And the predecessors are lying in the graveyard
I don’t know if they died of hunger or not
And the science of the lords doesn’t blame 
Hunger as the cause of human death 

I will be hanged at the third watch of the night
To know the final message
The concern of rainy winds floats in the eyes of my comrades
May be my death has settled the dew of countless pains 
In the sky of their eyes
That will be twinkling like pearls 
In the sun of love

I am indebted and grateful to my fellow comrades 
The poems written by me
Are the essences of their life indeed
I’ve just decorated them with immortal ink of the truth
I have not forgot their love
By the ordinary pain of death

The love that no one- can unearth
Even throughout his lifetime 
Standing at the edge of death I feel that today

Now I am heeding toward the place of public execution 
I’ve only one minute left to be hanged
Meanwhile what else may I leave for a nation in decline 
Without the example of igneous death 


I keep a cloud of many words 
In my chest pocket,
I keep the anxieties of unknown
In my mind’s locket.

Where do the blue stars live
Or blue fairy wings, 
Where does the red lotus
White seagull swings.

Where does the King Cobra dwell
In hidden hilly rest,
Where is the cave in the North or
In the Southwest.

In which sky does the eagle fly
Lays eggs in the sea
Why is the bird’s heart frozen
When cloud sounds bee.

To which distance the rainbow
Bend its face behind,
Why do these questions arise
In the corner of mind.

As a child looks everything
In the blinks of eyes,
So have I opened my eyes
To listen the cries.

Rezauddin Stalin is a very famous Bengali poet, born in 1962 in Nalbhanga village of Greater Jessore district.

Many local and foreign awards including Bangla Academy. His poems have been translated into 42 languages ​​of the world.

Along with poetry he established himself as a successful media personality. His basic thoughts on various issues of the society give us light. Rezauddin Stalin is now the international voice of Bengali  poetry.

One thought on “Poetry from Rezauddin Stalin

  1. Pingback: Synchronized Chaos Mid-June: Encountering the Mystery | SYNCHRONIZED CHAOS

Comments are closed.