book

A Poet Afloat

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Find out

exactly what it is about,

what words flirt around;

being inspired. 

 

Seeing, 

hearing 

a piece of art,

hardrock rhymes

 

that tell what has transpired,

what had rambled on by.

Hard times,

or that feel-good story

 

that is too cliche for news

nowadays,

no love to be found.

Between then and now,

 

after everything that has happened,

still trying to climb a side of a mountain.

Reach up above and find purchase,

pull yourself onto the ledge,

 

overcome that edge.

Inspirational,

overcoming what supposed story

has made times get harder.

 

Determination

denotes what is to be,

or what can be deemed

a possibility. 

 

So is it inspirational,

it being anything, 

just because it had been done

by one who downplays the feat?

 

Nay,

it feels good instead,

the rushing feeling

of creating, being

 

involved in something more than me,

kittens and puppies,

dogs too,

more than you,

 

inspired to make a difference

because I had made made one 

to your day, 

or so you say.

 

As long as what is being inspired

doesn't bring the end

of art,

of love and life,

 

I'll do it every day,

I'll inspire,

unintentionally,

that's the point.

 

I think.

 

Nothing in this world compares,

being lost at sea;

tidal waves won't let me be.

 

So poetry,

a release to me,

inpires others?

I can live with that,

 

be it the truth."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Having written poetry for a little more than a year now I see a lot of comments about how much people can relate to my work, mostly due to how some can read it and feel a sense of vulnerability, or truth. I never try to write a piece to just one person but time and again more people feel that some of my work is almost made out to just them. 

 

I'm okay with that, since I get that comment more than once. Ego on high, I suppose.

Ascendancy

Folder: 
Hand Written
"To think, 
back when I had asked
the exhausted man looking back,
eyes bloodshot, 
 
cheeks lined with scruff,
sweat on brow,
mr. mirror, who are you? 
Why are you here?
 
To think, 
years ago, barely alive,
that five more since then
I'd be sitting in this chair, 
 
typing away like I once did,
amid all the vivid scenes
that replay in my head,
when I could be dead,
 
instead flit the pen,
the flutter it dances across the page,
signing
not my life away,
 
but my name,
in another book,
the fifth,
the poetry that has kept me alive,
 
kept me going,
from the time I wanted to die,
words spinning for no reason
to now,
 
hard to believe 
that perhaps destiny
kept me writing,
and I have succeeded.
 
Not in making it big,
not in making money,
but making art.
Five years apart."
Author's Notes/Comments: 

It's been a while! Please stay tuned for what's next! (Serious, this time!)

‘সৃষ্টিশীলতার কবি’ মো. জিয়াউল হক-এর কাব্যগ্রন্থ “ফ্রেগরেন্স অব লাভ”

মো. জিয়াউল হক-এর কুড়িন মানে বিশপদী কবিতার বই ফ্রেগরেন্স অব লাভ ইংল্যান্ডের বিখ্যাত অলিম্পিয়া পাবলিশারস থেকে প্রকাশিত হয়েছে। এই গ্রন্থটিতে ষাটটি অসাধারণ কবিতা রয়েছে যা পড়লে পাঠকগণ এক অনন্য নতুনত্বের সন্ধান পাবেন! বইটিতে অনেক বিষয়ের মধ্যে উল্লেখযোগ্য হচ্ছে প্রেম, জীবন, সমাজ, আধ্যাত্মিকতা, দর্শন ইত্যাদি। বইটি প্রকাশের শুরু থেকে শেষ পর্যন্ত কবির অনেক স্বপ্ন, আবেগ, শ্রম এবং সাধনা জড়িত।

 

প্রতি বছর ইংল্যান্ডের অলিম্পিয়া পাবলিশারস-এ অসংখ্য পাণ্ডুলিপি জমা পড়লেও কর্তৃপক্ষ গুণ ও মানের বিচারে শ্রেষ্ঠ গ্রন্থগুলোকেই প্রকাশের জন্য নির্বাচিত করে। মো. জিয়াউল হক-এর ফ্রেগরেন্স অব লাভ গ্রন্থটি কবি হিসেবে তাঁর শ্রেষ্ঠত্ব প্রকাশ পাবার পাশাপাশি সমগ্র বাংলাদেশের জন্যও এটি একটি ঐতিহাসিক এবং উজ্জ্বল দৃষ্টান্ত হয়ে থাকবে। সত্যিকার অর্থেই এটি বাংলাদেশি হিসেবে আমাদের গর্ব করার মতই একটি বিষয়। আমরা এই সুন্দর এবং চমৎকার বইটির সার্বিক সাফল্য কামনা করি। আমাদের আশা এই যে গ্রন্থটি দেশে বিদেশে বিপুল পাঠকপ্রিয়তা অর্জন করুক এবং কবি মো. জিয়াউল হক এবং তাঁর অসাধারণ গ্রন্থটি বিভিন্ন সম্মানজনক পুরস্কারে ভূষিত হোক। কারণ গুণীর প্রাপ্য সম্মান দিলে জাতি কখনও পেছনে যায় না বরং নতুন আলোয় উদ্ভাসিত হয়ে উন্নতির সিঁড়ি বেয়ে সামনে এগুতে থাকে। আবারও সৃষ্টিশীলতার কবি মো. জিয়াউল হক-কে শুভেচ্ছা এবং বিনম্র শ্রদ্ধা জানাই।

 

- নার্গিস সুলতানা

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My book of kurine [poems of twenty lines] “Fragrance of Love” has been published in England

Your blessings and love have paved the way for me to publish my book of kurine [poems of twenty lines] titled “Fragrance of Love” from the renowned Olympia Publishers in England. Since the beginning till the end of the publication process of this book, much of my hard work, dream and dedication have been involved. You can collect the book here: http://www.amazon.com/Fragrance-of-Love/dp/1848975511/ref=sr_1_16?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1456418900&sr=1-16&keywords=fragrance+of+love

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The Reign

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Where so many rush to fall asleep,

I tend to creep,

afraid of the a lack of light, 

what's in store for tonight. 

 

Would you like to know why?

I'm afraid of what's inside,

what I always seem to need,

what sleeps within me.

 

When the darkness falls

and my mind succumbs to sweet slumber,

lumbering in comes the pattering of feet,

clawed, and I can't seem to scream.

 

I try to get out from underneath the covers,

to run away, but I am stayed 

by the sudden jacket, holding arms back,

while at my heels chases the maniac. 

 

It is the ghoul, it's in my room,

and now theres nothing but abyss,

amiss of clothes and shoe and tooth

as I run to only bring closer nothingness.

 

And now I am within reach, looking back

at the black teeth, to tear my wide and tall,

before tripping onto face,

no hands to break the fall. 

 

And looking to what had cause the trip,

innocent children, empty faces,

look into me, through me, and it hurts,

it burns, no clue why they are in my plight.

 

And now taking flight, they chase me too,

I am running to a single point,

straight jacket still applied,

my escape impossible, my voice mute. 

 

Again, so focued to the rear,

I forget about the front, 

looking ahead to see now in front of me

the biggest snake ever slithers on scene. 

 

The snake grows bigger, stopping,

rearing its head, baring its fangs,

it wraps me in it's tail,

and squeezes me tight.

 

I can't stand the grip, crying out,

but no sound comes, 

just the sound of my eyes popping out,

and the sound of the plop.

 

The drop of me, hitting the carpet,

falling onto the floor, blanket wrapped around me,

back in my room, not monsters,

no snake no ghoul.

 

Just the sweat drenched shirt,

the paper-dry throat,

rattled, another night lost

to the internal battle. Nightmares reign."  

Author's Notes/Comments: 

So many have issues falling asleep, though the reasons are as numerous as some of them terrorizing. 

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The Girl And Her Wyrm

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"The Castle was gigantic. 

Expansive, was it's wide thrust,

filled with cracks, crevices and uneven bricks

pock-marked with mortar turning to dust.

 

Inside the deep recess

was a dormant terror,

up in it's highest tower,

a princess lived, none fairer. 

 

But both were locked up,

the furnace inside the gargantuan beast

kept the Castle warm,

the ovens hot, promoting many a feast. 

 

But lest the monster

breaks its shackles!

As once had happened before,

the quest none could tackle.

 

Knight after knight

fell to the flame,

the winged lizard licking tongues

of fire all about, untamed. 

 

Many an arrow was shot

from hunters brave, 

but no purchase for any arrow

was, by the monster hide, gave. 

 

Spear was no better,

having been thrown hard and true,

but not a single mighty heft

would force a metal tip through.

 

Then one day,

the princess who lived above,

just asked, 'give me a chance!',

but her father would allow no tug.

 

So that night,

while the great serpent ravaged the land,

she scaled down her tall tower

with the most daring plan.

 

She crept along the meadow,

in the cold of the moonlit night,

and up the the snoozing beast

she stomped her boot with all her might.

 

The beast sprung up,

startled awake by such a petite thing,

but before he bellowed flame,

she started to sing.

 

Sweetly, softly, 

she sang out her heart,

and through spirit, ripped hers out,

and handed it over, so that they'd never be apart.

 

Since then,

the two remain locked up with no regret.

The land has since healed.

But many don't forget.

 

Of the Girl and her Wyrm,

the star-crossed lovers never meant to be.

And how through love and song

she saved all the eye could ever see."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mighty verus Meek. I've learned time and again to not underestimate those of small build; their characters are so often bigger than most.

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Kenopsia

Folder: 
To Be Illustrated

"Almost tiring,

the bump of the shoulders passing by,

the hallways so full of students, mean, 

their intentions unknown to what they vie. 

 

But the Janitor, 

mop handle twisting in wrists, 

cleans the bustling halls, murder

of the sparkling floors committed with fervor.

 

Moreover, the students don't care!

But no matter, the Janitor smiles as he cleans,

leaning on his swab bucket, no flair

for how unfair redoing the swab job is.

 

But now it is after five,

the older gentleman is working his way up and down,

the passageways now empty, 

all the students long gone home. 

 

Quite the opposite scene,

from when the school was full,

a loud and swarming event, specifcally

during the lunch periods. 

 

And during those times? While constantly 

going back and forth, picking up spills

and keeping the floor clean,

he even feels grumpy.

 

But only now at this momement,

a longing, a forlorn feeling wraps itself

over the un-bumped shoulders of the man,

alone, doing his job.

 

The sudden wish the students were there,

to fill the empty space he cleans, 

the abandoned place to fill up soon,

but not a moment too late, he steams.

 

All the moments that he's spent,

breaking up a fight between two boys,

frankly taking both collars in each hand

and talking to them sharply, they listened.

 

The time he talked to the crying girl,

leaning on the mop handle, wise counsel

spewed at a comforting rate to the young one

who had her first broken heart. 

 

Or the time he tutored the troubled youth,

not in math or english but in life,

the boy sticking around while he cleaned. 

alone, his only brother having been knifed. 

 

Every smile he evoked,

with silly, word-play jokes,

every time he snapped at young students passing by, 

keeping the rowdy in line. 

 

The old man now smiled himself,

finishing up the entire school,

looking forward to the bustle to come,

the lockers that will slam, voices, loud.

 

The end of this feeling, eerie,

sudden, and no more farther then

when he will grumble, with a slight smile,

of the busy hallways where he will be bumped again."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A imagined scene of an old man janitor that we may or may not all remember or think back to.

On Faithfulness

Folder: 
Simple Thoughts

"Don't get so frustrated, 

it's only a book, 

or a few words

that you threw,

 

hoping they might stick.

Sound familiar?

Surreal,

especially if you've stuck with it.

 

Life can be funny like that,

in fact, it is,

that the same things

seem to alwaus happen

 

to people who may wish

it wasn't the case;

assuming it's negative.

Once you give it a second

 

to process,

it's wild to think

the same exact advice

you give

 

is the opposite

of how you live

your own life.

Some advice...

 

Twice now I've had to step in.

To stop the golden desires

of sundrops on skin,

forbidden,

 

when there has already been seeds sown,

a tree has been growing,

and now there's doubt,

the axe lays on its side

 

nearby. Nearly every time,

it can hurt to cry,

but not if infidelity

is the reason why. At least,

 

let's hope 

that's not the case.

I'd hate to see the fallout,

it'd be all over the place."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Just some thoughts on my ever-increasing number of friends who have yet to reach relationship goals... 

Dear Writer

Write and write, then write some more

Oh how some have said “It’s a bore.”

What do they know? They don’t see

The magic of these words on trees

Tiny strips of once grand woods

Hold whole worlds, even in death

The tree is gone, but life is there

And it grows with every breath

To create such things as worlds and lives

To build them up and rip apart

The power, the emotions, oh dear writer

Here is a portal to your heart

Look at how each person changes

Look at how your worlds expand

Do you see lives rearranging

And all within your master plan

Oh, the excitement! Oh, the joy!

Beauty is here, beauty and life!

In the quiet of humble homes

A universe hides inside

Some poor souls won’t understand

They’ll never see what you have done

Don’t live for them, don’t mold your worlds

To show the cruelty they’ve become

Take a breath, then get to work

Go live within what you create

Be surprised, feel admiration

Feel love, joy, jealousy, and hate

Don’t be afraid to stray away

And wander down an unknown path

Surprise and awe aren’t just for readers

Not everything will need a plan

Just let the life grow on its own

Let the people all be free

And in their freedom, you will find

A world where you may wish to be

Life isn’t set in stone, my friends

And your writing is the same

Your words are alive, so just relax

And walk within your stories

Always remember, your world is living

It’s not just scribbles on a page

And always know, it’s your creation

 

Be proud, and please, keep writing

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I love writing, and got so excited when talking about writing that I felt the need to write a poem about it. Hope you enjoy.