Shubhankar ‘Joshua Bodhinetra’ Das

গবাক্ষ – গীতি

তন্ত্র নহে রে পিত্ত জহরে
ছায়ানিশা বাঁকে মিথিলা ঝুমুরে,
কাকের ভরণে ওহে দুরন্তে
নহে হেমন্তে
সাঁঝেরই সলতে,
এবড়োখেবড়ো ফোকরে সীমানা
ঐশীপলাশে মেঠো যে রান্না
কোকিলা ত্যাজিবে চিত্তছোবলে,
মোতি সারল্যে,
দেবকী শল্যে –
তন্ত্র নহে রে গণ্ডি ডহরে
সোনাঝুরি সেথা বিমনা চামরে,
দোঁয়াশ ওষ্ঠ ছুঁয়ে আরাধ্য
কাটারি শ্রাদ্ধ,
বাড়িলে আদরে পান্তা কপালে
রহিবেনা হেথা তুষ্টি গোপালে –
ডুমুরে সেবেলা আধা-কীর্তনে
আত্মানাত্ম উখা গর্জনে,
দিবা অরণ্যে
কোতল সায়নে,
তুলে রাখা ঝুলে
মাকড় মাশুলে নোয়া অভিক্ষা মান ৷৷

Reality: a haiku

Soul-wrought cicadas,
Vanish at a bricolage –
Echoed in a bowl.

A fool's journey into a knot untied

Cliffs at a height, carry water or a kite,
Vapours hanging under lye marry wings with a fly
Staccato windy tarot –
Dire roses do they sow
When ravens trapped in the navel of an ant-eating gravel
Saw the cliffs in a shower,
Kiss an ash and an hour,
Wheeling feathered like a fire in a rusty attire,
Age and oil sewn in glitch, split around a fallow ditch ----
In flying spiders will they fear
Sparrow's lovely veneer,
Innocence in a beaker, praying arrows, leaching cider,
On the face of the cliff,
Brazen winter, drone and grief,
Figaro dreaming in a sigh bellow their ration's assegai ----
Mimosa lions on the kill – blushing air on a hill.

Call it aporia, call it the void pregnant with singularities, call it the knot of knots and further knots inside, call it the poignant existence, call it the irreal essence, call it the romance of chaos and miasma, call it the macabre circus of dimensions, phenomenons and both beings, non-beings and the almost-beings... call it the Brahman, call it enchanted madness, call it absurdity or call it the tree or a glade with strings knotted across all the leaves, all the thorns and buds and petals and pollen and seeds, strung across all the magnificent, inconceivable and terrible yet nonsensical beasts of air, soil, water and air, growing and wilting upon a cliff of eternal fire, eternal light, infinite darkness, inexhaustible patience and unfathomable shades... this fractal laughter, this fractal pain, it is all that there is, and all that never is... as dead leaves, bugs, feathers, flowers, snow, soot and rain fall down the cliff carrying with them the play of the strings, more and more yet less and less zeroes are formed, cocooning a beautiful emptiness in themselves, into themselves, by themselves and through themselves... some unravel into further knots of oppression, some as knots of hatred, some as love, some as thirst, as arrogance, as wisdom, as creativity, as consumption, as renunciation, as rationality, as fallacy, as numbers, as figures, as phases, as states, as energy, as charge, as stasis, as motion, as the past, as the future, as material, as idea, as sentience, and so on and so forth... sad are those who deny the forest, sadder are those who lust for appropriating the other knots upon failing to know their indivisibility infused through and upon the manifested divisibility, sadder are those who pine for the gardener/s of the forest – as the woods need no hand – or those who long for the tailor/s of the knots--as the string/s are their own needle and spindles, and the saddest are those who are those who attempt at dragging themselves back up the cliff through the slippery overhangs, slopes, crevices and vales of attachment, greed, sadism, ego, desire, luxuria, despair, sloth, ignorance, pride, deafness of the heart and blindness of the mind... this be the fool's journey this far, but all in all it is just half of the endeavour as the other half is understanding the futility of hating, coveting, killing and conquering the living who are already dead and the dead who are alive, all for the dead and by the dead. also it is to see and realise the inutility and pointlessness of trying to climb back upon the cliff as the cliff, the forest and music of the strings are nowhere to be "found" and thereafter be enforced in ways untrue and putrid in its fallacious detritus, but that they are always present in themselves, knotted inside the knots in knots of all the zeroes inundated with further zeroes, pregnant with the immense fractal-ity with what is beyond and within and without... and once that entire journey ends, all the ends and beginnings will be one, all the manifested and the unmanifested can be realised as one and that perhaps is what the master Tathāgata reached, brought out and into & preached to us all as nirvāa… a journey meant for all, and poised for all…

অহংকার: একটি হাইকু

সন্ধ্যা নিয়ত
নিহত মজ্জা, সূর্য
আতরে লজ্জা ৷৷

শুভঙ্কর ‘যশুয়া বোধিনেত্র’ দাস

Shubhankar ‘Joshua Bodhinetra’ Das