Mohammad Shafiqul Islam

Republic of the dead

As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn

1m ago

Jabar bela fele jeo ekti khopar phul

Leave a flower from your bun when you depart, my love.

3m ago

Swapane eshechilo mridubhashini

Translated by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam

3m ago

Mor ghumo ghore ele monohar

In my deep sleep, you came, my love—

6m ago

We’re still alive

We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death

1y ago

Bombardment

What’s life if a sense of darkness/ doesn’t connect night to sunlight

1y ago

Lamp of grief

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

1y ago

Three Songs: Kazi Nazrul Islam

Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.

1y ago
October 17, 2024
October 17, 2024

Republic of the dead

As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn

August 31, 2024
August 31, 2024

Swapane eshechilo mridubhashini

Translated by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam

August 31, 2024
August 31, 2024

Jabar bela fele jeo ekti khopar phul

Leave a flower from your bun when you depart, my love.

May 25, 2024
May 25, 2024

Mor ghumo ghore ele monohar

In my deep sleep, you came, my love—

November 25, 2023
November 25, 2023

We’re still alive

We’re still alive/ but they wanted to die a natural death

November 1, 2023
November 1, 2023

Bombardment

What’s life if a sense of darkness/ doesn’t connect night to sunlight

July 20, 2023
July 20, 2023

Lamp of grief

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023

Three Songs: Kazi Nazrul Islam

Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.

August 27, 2022
August 27, 2022

Love at Second Sight

Dream is a mystery sometimes unfolded amidst creeping eeriness unstipulated to the seemingly compos mentis. As long as my stint in your thought bears a meaning for life because I wish to worship the sanctity of your feeling for me and tree,

August 27, 2022
August 27, 2022

I wish the world were a painting

Now I wonder the world is a painting, an imaginary chamber where captives sing, like a caged dove obeying a hunter enticing free birds to live in bliss. And then I see darkness of dusk fade away as the sun begins to peek in the east.