A sweet little gift

rain1Aj notun kore bristir songay   
Alaap korbar ichcha holo.
Tar gumro mukho megheder dekhe
Purono alaaper kotha mone poregelo.
Matir trishnarto deho dekhe
Notun patar jonmabar avash peye
Jibon k abar chinte ichcha korlo.  
Du hath bariye tader sporsho korte chailam 
Alpo hese miliye gelo tara. 
R dure kothao, sona gelo,  
Hajar nupurer shobdo.
 

[Words : Shreya]

The unfinished wife

the unfinished wife

She waits
Besides the door…
Hoping to see a
Familiar shadow
Over that bend
Of the village path.

He is still to return.
But armed men,
The Law
Pays unwanted
"visits"
As often as they can.

Downcast eyes
Wait for the shadow
Wait for man,
The embrace
The peace
With him being in the house.

His shirt hangs
In the corner…
His part of the bed still untouched.

They say,
"He is there
Somewhere…
In the woods,
Fighting against
The "law".

She understands
He is walking
In a sinned path…

She knows he will
suffer, or
Perhaps even die…

The eyes still wander
Over the bend
Of the empty
Village path…
The yearning eyes
Of the unfinished wife…

Words by: Wanderer

 

[ This post was written in association with  Wanderer , a blogger-friend of mine. The picture has a story of its own. I shot it on the last Mahalaya. One of my friends ridiculed  it saying,

arre ektu moisturizer laga
(Do apply some moisturizer on it buddy). 

But her comment really showed the other way of looking into the picture. It looked oxymoronic to me. In one hand several cracks have occurred on the figurine. On the other hand the beautiful smile is still existent on her lips. The figurine reminded me of a lady who is torn at the hands of time but still maintains the smile of hope.

Having thought that, I could relate her with a section of women in our modern society – a terrorist’s wife. Yes, she’s the one whose tale is never thought or spoken of. In  today’s society where relations are born and broken in just 12 seconds, she in spite of  knowing his husband’s doings waits for his return being shattered from within. So I thought of writing about it but my emotions and feelings were unable to find their true expressions. So I thought to hand over the subject to a friend of mine and asked her to write a beautiful and solemn tale of the lives of these women. Thus the above poetry was born at the able hands of Wanderer.]

 

 

P.S. : I don’t have any reservation about any of the existing political forums. The post was written solely on Humanitarian grounds…

 

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