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Md. Ziaul Haque

Md Ziaul Haque

Md. Ziaul Haque

Can you smell the fragrance of love in the air?
It like the presence of Aphrodite and Eros is just there,
Escape from it is not achievable as in us it does dwell,
And will bathe all with the smell.
Love is life, the unseen spirit,
That like Salim and Anarkali almost each tries to meet,
Fortunate they are who have the kiss,
Of love in their hearts, as a bliss.
If love is a country then the lovers its citizens,
Where the fragrance of love makes all the difference,
The nonsense gain sense, the ordered ones seem foolish,
This is the magic of love, the bringer of changes coolish.
It is love that binds us all with one heart,
The way the universe hates to let things fall apart,
As Shah Jahan and Mumtaz’s love indicates its omnipresence!
Lovers reach despite how near they are, whatever the distance.
Love cannot truly be defined,
Neither its translation we can find,
It can only be felt as did Layla and Majnun thereupon,
Love was, is and will love be even if different is the dawn!

Rickshaw though born in Japan,
The land of the rising sun,
Reaches many nations,
Aiming to extend beauty and offer, for the poor, options.
The rickshaw of three wheels,
The puller pensively feels,
Has been a blessing,
Ever since his own wheel of fortune is in confused swing.
It’s his Mercedes, helping him earn the bread,
Even its least trouble makes him utterly mad,
Some days prove to be literal cornucopia,
Others give birth to misery inside the messy dystopia.
Pulling the much-loved rickshaw is what he is destined to do,
Whether soaked in rain or prevented by the rays, the wheels must go,
Lunchtime for him bears hardly any meaning at times,
The kids’ faces let him forget all the sadness while he climbs.
The rickshaw is his existence, the true friend ever,
As if Helios’ ‘chariot of the sun’ transformed its nature,
Regardless of slight sporadic healing, it’s ever set to rock,
He doesn’t give a damn if others try to mock.

Your gorgeous smile,
Like Buddhist-mantra hypnotises me,
Even if the distance is,
A mile!
There is nothing,
Called perfection on earth,
But your smile has proved me wrong,
In your cheeks I find that thing.
The smile of thousands of flowers,
And even of those newly born,
Shall appear dead like a desert,
Compared to your one, pride of plentiful summers.
Vinci’s Mona Lisa comes after that,
This is how my honesty like Oracle addresses,
Since you are at the Mount Olympus,
On the head with the Greco laurel circlet.
Even though the sky allures like Morgan le Fay,
And the wily adder,
Each time the light and joy your smile brings,
I cannot move my eyes away.

Had been gazing for long,
The moon,
At the sea-water,
Listening to the tranquil song.
The wind didn’t roar as the harp,
Nor did the clouds quiver any fuming fleece,
In deep slumber the storm-birds were,
Though pale, the moon did look sharp.
An owl was busy defying the darkness,
Got much help from the ray of orb of night,
Looking for a lost victim to grasp,
Everything there was save the lyre of Timotheus.
Poseidon was on leave perchance,
Letting the water cuddle,
The moon with elation,
Utterly overpowered was the distance.
The silvery beauty was for departure bound,
The dawn of Aurora lingered to twinkle in the orient,
Since the cruel saw of time never pays heed,
Thus she vowed to meet later without a sound.

From the womb of Mother Nature,
Has appeared the winter,
To perform its task momentarily,
A blessing for some and a curse for many.
Winter has its unique, sweet odour,
In addition to smog as its figure,
The rich can afford expensive shield,
To fight against it but the poor merely yield.
Winter triumphs over the street-dwellers,
And those struggling for their being, including snake charmers,
And the slum occupiers scattered almost far and wide,
Never can they take pleasure in winter, neither can they hide.
Winter happens to make some farmers smile in gladness,
As it gifts them with crops alive with brightness,
Some of us pray to the Almighty to let it depart faster,
Some others especially children want it to linger.
Nature has its own laws to abide by,
A kind of rebirth occurs after each ephemeral goodbye,
And so the cycle works akin to a Sufi whirling,
We have to meet winter despite our being fervent or unwilling.

I don’t think I was what we call humane,
But trying to be,
Not quite certain,
If I can touch that star, let’s see.
Wasted priceless moments doing things unexpected,
I wish I could wind them back,
Going for a new start ahead,
But thank god mending is still possible to make.
Have you seen humanity?
Does it dwell nearby?
I have been searching for it badly,
Please let me know if you happen to meet it, I’ll be its ally.
I don’t see its visage in the war, nor in the desert sands,
Neither can I find it next to a child dying of malnourishment,
I laugh at those who take pride in beautifying homelands,
When thousands turn out to be destitute and despondent.
I know that I don’t have that celestial light,
Yet I have faith in the Almighty,
That my endeavour shall lead me towards it,
Turning me even if slightly into “A Farewell to Arms’” Henry.

Once the electricity went to rest,
I did what I could do best,
Groped in the ocean of darkness,
To fight against shadows, looking for a wax.
Something didn’t want me to win over,
After letting the fingers work with care,
Reached I the target,
Yes, the candle I did get.
Another effort was yet to follow,
The thing holding the spark of civilisation as we know,
Meant to perish the shadows were and still are,
The shore thought I, like Santiago was not afar.
The evil ministers were at work,
Sitting idly being dark,
In the Typhon-like-endeavour to impede my march,
And the invincible search.
Waiting I was for the glow, as beautiful as the setting sun,
And like octopus, let I the human tentacles run,
The lighter didn’t pain me quite,
It kissed the string and was born the dancing light!

Each time you walk on,
Before my eyes,
I see you in slow motion,
As happens in movies.
As if you and I right here,
Were being directed,
With a force unfamiliar,
Yet sacred.
Fair like a star you are,
Your lips are ruby,
As the mermaids acquire,
Many get envious witnessing your personality.
Stone is not as cold,
As your hands are,
I feel like painting kisses bold,
On your lips, cheeks and everywhere.
As light can’t save a fish out of water,
And Radha hardly exists without Krishna,
I’m nothing alike without you near,
As is known to the earth’s flora and fauna.



Charanjeet Kaur

Nirendranath Chakraborty - In Discussion with Aju Mukhopadhayay
Rajni Tilak - In Conversation with Anjali Singh

Charanjeet Kaur – “The Partitioning of the Sub-Continental Mind”
Dilip Jhaveri – ‘Voices from Persia and Ireland’
Kamla Bhasin – ‘Roots of Patriarchy’

Aditya Kumar Panda – ‘Determinants of Translation’
Kamayani Kumar – ‘Mediating Partition narratives through Visual Culture’
Madhvi Lata – ‘Girish Karnad’s “Naga-Mandala’
Rachana Pandey – ‘Men in Theatrical Performance’

Book Reviews
Ananya Sarkar – ‘Halfway Up A Hill’
Jaydeep Sarangi – ‘At the Crossroads of Culture and Literature’
KV Raghupathi – ‘My Friendship with Yoga
Lakshmi Kannan – ‘Encounters with People and the Angels of Hope’
Pratibha Kumari Singh – ‘A Gift of Goddess Lakshmi’
Revathi Raj Iyer – ‘In Other Words’
Srinivas Reddy – ‘Mahabharata: A Modern Retelling’
Sunaina Jain – ‘The Tree with a Thousand Apples’
Usha Kishore – ‘The Ending of Arrogance: Ksemendra’s Darpa Dalana’

Ambika Ananth – ‘Editorial Note’
Ashfaqh Hasan
BR Nagpal
Jim Wungramyao Kasom
Leena Sharma
Malcolm Carvalho
Md Ziaul Haque
Nitya Swaruba
Nuggehalli Pankaja
Prem Kumar
Madhabi Das (Trans. Subhasree Chatterjee)
Sunaina Jain
Ubaidullah Pandit

U Atreya Sarma – ‘Editorial Musings’
Ashok Patwari – ‘Padma’
Bodhisatwa Ray – ‘Kway Teow’
Chaganti Nagaraja Rao – ‘The Donor of Books’
Jindagi Kumari – ‘On the path of duty’
Lopa Mukherjee – ‘Through the lens of a camera’
Niyantha Shekar – ‘Shiva Park’
Rajarshi Banerjee – ‘The Mannequin’
Revathi Raj Iyer – ‘Tempest’
Sharath Suryan – ‘1800 Seconds’
Sridhar V – ‘Simply Baffling’

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