Poetry
In Poetry category will have various poems will on bengali or bangla. These are based on various issues on the mordern life. This category is only bengali poetry.
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Love the Winter – A charming Beauty
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In Winter’s embrace, the world turns cold,
A tranquil hush, a tale untold.
The air, crisp and pure, in icy dance,
A canvas of white, a frozen expanse.
The Earth, adorned in a gown of frost,
As nature’s brush, in stillness, embossed.
A whispering wind weaves through the trees,
A symphony of silence, a winter’s tease.
Human hearts, in this season, find delight,
By the hearth’s warmth on a chilly night.
Mugs clink with cocoa, fires crackle bright,
Gathered ’round, bathed in cozy light.
Snowflakes descend, each one unique,
Softly painting scenes, mild and bleak.
Children romp in playful delight,
Crafting snow angels, a pure delight.
Skates carve paths on glistening ice,
Echoes of laughter, a joyous slice.
Scarves and mittens, cheeks rosy red,
Adventures spun on sleds they tread.
In Winter’s embrace, a serenity found,
A pause in time, a tranquil sound.
For in this season, amidst its chill,
Lies warmth in hearts, a cherished thrill.
So, let’s savor this season’s allure,
Embrace its beauty, its charm secure.
For Winter gifts us a magical sight,
And in its essence, our spirits take flight.
As daylight fades, stars twinkle above,
A celestial blanket, a sky to love.
Moonbeams shimmer on snow-clad ground,
A mesmerizing aura, profound and unbound.
Through frosted windows, a fantastic view,
Nature’s artwork, a masterpiece a new.
Frost-kissed petals, sleeping trees,
A silent poetry, whispered on the breeze.
In Winter’s embrace, souls intertwine,
Shared moments glow, like sparkling wine.
Wrapped in blankets, tales unfurl,
Time suspended in this wintry swirl.
So, let’s cherish this season’s embrace,
Embrace its beauty, its quiet grace.
For Winter holds a special key,
Unlocking hearts to wander free.
Amidst this season, resources thrive,
Harvested treasures, to keep alive.
Maple syrup tapped from frozen trees,
A sweet elixir, crafted with ease.
In Winter’s grasp, a bounty blooms,
Fruits of labor, amidst the gloom.
From evergreens to ice’s embrace,
Nature’s gifts, a sublime embrace.
Let’s honor this season’s rich array,
Its resources vast, in cold’s display.
For Winter shares its treasures bright,
Nourishing us through each frosty night.
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Strong belief can win the race in life
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In the cricketing realm, a name does shine,
K L Rahul, with skills divine.
Batsman supreme, a wicket-keeper fine,
His mental strength, a tale in every line.
In World Cups’ fray, his bat did sing,
386 runs, his accolades ring.
At number 5, he held the fort,
Guiding India, a vital support.
But fate’s twist, a challenge found,
His tendon snapped, a jolting sound.
Injury struck, a painful blow,
Yet Rahul’s spirit continued to glow.
Through surgery’s path, with crutches in sight,
He walked on, with determined might.
“I’ll focus, I’ll heal,” his resolve so strong,
His courage, a testament all along.
“The race I’ll win, with belief in me,
No setback shall dim my cricketing spree.”
His words echo, his grit so pure,
K L Rahul, a spirit secure.
Decision Rahul System, they acclaim,
Not just a player, but a revered name.
Belief that soars above pain’s strife,
For in his faith, he found life’s true drive.
Recovery beckons, a chapter anew,
In K L Rahul’s journey so true.
A saga of strength, against the odds,
In cricket’s tale, a champion louds.
Through trials endured, a story unfurled,
In every challenge, he faced the world.
His success not just in runs amassed,
But in resilience, unsurpassed.
With bat in hand and gloves held tight,
He carved his path, in day or night.
Each innings etched, a masterclass shown,
In triumphs scripted and battles known.
A beacon of hope, a lesson taught,
In the game of cricket, his battles fought.
For K L Rahul, not just a name,
But a symbol of courage in the hall of fame.
In victories celebrated, his mark imprints,
In setbacks faced, his spirit glints.
A saga of triumphs, through the strife,
K L Rahul, the epitome of life.
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বছর শেষে থুশির বন্যা
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ডিসেম্বরে জাঁকিয়ে শীতে
আসে বড়দিন।
কমলালেবু, কেক সঙ্গে সেলিব্রেশন
ষীশু খ্রৃীষ্টের জন্মদিন।
তারপরই এসে পড়ে
নতুন বছর জানুয়ারী।
আলো, বাজী, মেসেজের ছড়াছড়ি
সঙ্গে চলে প্রমিশ রকমারি।
নতুন নতুন শাক-সব্জি
নতুন নতুন ফল।
নতুন জামা, রঙিন মেজাজ
মনের স্বপ্ন একদল।
নানান খাবার, নানান উৎসব
আছে নানান মজাটি।
অফিসে ছুটি নিয়ে বেড়াতে যাওযা
এসব নিয়ে হুটোপুটি।
ইয়ার এন্ডের মজার সঙ্গে
নতুন বছর এসে পরে।
অফিসের সব নতুন কাজ
নতুন প্রোজেক্ট শুরু করে।
In the twilight of the fading year,
Amidst the joy, the laughter, and cheer,
Gather ’round, dear friends, draw near,
As we bid adieu and welcome clear.
In echoes of laughter, memories bloom,
Each passing moment, a vibrant plume,
We dance in the shadows of midnight’s glow,
With hearts ablaze, in a jubilant show.
The year departs with lessons learned,
In every twist and turn concerned,
Yet hope arises, anew, pristine,
A canvas blank, a year unseen.
With sparkling eyes and spirits bright,
We hail the dawn, the wondrous sight,
Embracing dreams that dare to soar,
In the embrace of the coming door.
As fireworks paint the skies above,
In celebration, in joy, and love,
Let’s raise our voices, sing and cheer,
To the possibilities of the coming year.
So, here’s to joy and heartfelt truth,
To days of laughter, of endless worth,
As the clock strikes, let’s all cheer,
Happy New Year, two-zero-two-four!
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Thakur Ramkrishna and Jessus Christ
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This story is based on “Parampurush Shree Ramkrishna” of Shree Achinta Kumar Sen Gupta.
In Jadu Mallick’s haven, one fleeting day,
Thakur Ramakrishna sat, stories held in sway,
Conversing with Jadu, his gaze then caught,
A picture framed, a scene that deeply wrought.
A mother’s tender arms, a child divine,
In her embrace, a sacred glow did shine,
The mother’s eyes held depths of boundless love,
While on the child’s face, innocence did rove.
“Who are they?” Thakur Ramakrishna inquired with grace,
“A lady and her son,” the answer in its place,
His eyes held steady, fixed on this display,
A luminous child in a serene array.
“Mary and Jesus,” the truth did unfold,
A vision ancient, a story untold,
Yashoda and Bal Gopal he remembered,
In the scene, a mystical essence found.
Later, in quest of more, Thakur Ramakrishna sought,
To Shambhu Mallik’s dwelling, his steps were brought,
Seeking tales of Jesus and his pure light,
The Bible’s verses, in his mind took flight.
Days moved on, and in an unexpected flow,
Thakur Ramakrishna’s path took an unfamiliar glow,
Within Jadu’s abode, an uncharted scheme,
Where Thakur Ramakrishna found an ethereal gleam.
“Mother, what are you showing?” His soul did cry,
The image alive, painting the sky,
A divine aura, a heavenly play,
Enveloped in grace, in that moment’s stay.
“Radiant child, your mother exudes grace,”
Words echoing divinity, in that sacred space,
Towards Shambhu Mallik, his yearning led,
The Bible’s wisdom, through his heart spread.
A mind now filled with revelations grand,
Thakur Ramakrishna journeyed to understand,
In a Christian home, for days he stayed,
Exploring the depths where faiths cascade.
One day, a revelation unfurled its might,
A figure appeared, radiant and bright,
Not a foreigner, but a presence pure,
A divine man, an essence to allure.
“Are you that supreme? Are you Christ divine?
Are you Krishna, in the tamal’s vine?”
In their embrace, they merged as one,
Dissolving into the cosmos, all was done.
“Everyone reads the Bible,” he spoke aloud,
But Jesus’s description, he found unbowed,
“No mention of his look,” the devotees claimed,
Yet visions through his mind had streamed.
His watch, they said, ticked in perfect line,
Yet, in divine’s time, a uniqueness did shine,
No match for the gaze, no sight aligned,
Only the truth in his heart enshrined.
A mingled tale of faiths, a blend so rare,
A pilgrimage through visions beyond compare,
Thakur Ramakrishna’s journey, a glimpse untamed,
In realms where souls and divinity merged.
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Joyous Echoes of Yuletide Delight
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In the hush of winter night, a tale unfolds,
Where stars alight, and mirth beholds,
A tale of wonder, of love’s sweet embrace,
As Christmas comes with its enchanting grace.
Amidst the frost, in a world adorned,
Whispers of joy, in every heart told,
From homes a glow with twinkling light,
To streets adorned in festive might.
The evergreens don their festive best,
With loughs, ribbons, and dreams abreast,
Their fragrant boughs, a haven’s sight,
Embracing all in the gentle night.
Children’s laughter, like jingle bells,
Echoes through lanes and secret wells,
Their eyes alight with sheer delight,
As anticipation takes its flight.
Fireside tales in a cozy nook,
Spin yarns of Santa and his book,
Of reindeer flights across the sky,
Where dreams take flight and spirits fly.
The kitchen hums with a joyful din,
As aromas weave and stories begin,
Of recipes passed through ages long,
Infusing each heart with a cherished song.
Families gather, hearts entwine,
In the glow of love, a bond divine,
Sharing moments, both old and new,
Crafting memories, pure and true.
Church bells chime, a melodious ring,
A chorus of hope, as angels sing,
Hymns of peace and goodwill to men,
Resound through valleys and glens.
Charity’s hand extends its reach,
To those in need, with love to teach,
Blankets of kindness, warmth untold,
Embracing souls in the bitter cold.
Amidst the gifts and merry cheer,
Lies the essence of this time of year,
A celebration of love’s purest form,
A beacon of hope, through calm and storm.
So, as the stars gleam in the night,
And the moon casts its silvery light,
Let’s raise our voices, hearts aglow,
In celebration of this festive show.
For Christmas, with its wondrous art,
Unfolds the love in every heart,
May its spirit linger, ever bright,
Guiding us through each wondrous night.
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Poush Mela- Shantiniketan’s Living Tale
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In Shantiniketan’s embrace, on Poush’s seventh dawn,
The shehnai’s melodious breath, the festive day’s spawn.
Poush Mela opens its eyes, the town rouses with cheer,
Vaitalik’s first footsteps, a song-filled atmosphere.
Around the entire place, their tunes softly unfurl,
Baul music’s essence, in each note, a swirl.
A canvas of Bengali folklore painted alive,
Dance, song, and sports, cultural tales thrive.
With each passing day, diverse activities unfold,
An ode to Shantiniketan, traditions untold.
From vibrant performances to prayers so devout,
The Mela’s grandeur, beyond any doubt.
Fifteen hundred souls, their stalls, their art displayed,
Ten thousand guests in awe, in the Mela’s cascade.
Government figures hint at numbers less grand,
Yet festivals swell, like waves on the land.
Rabindra Paksha, Basanta Utsav’s bloom,
An influx of thousands, not a silent room.
Eighty-five lodges stand, their doors flung wide,
A home for visitors, in Shantiniketan’s pride.
Poush Sankranti’s magic, a daily delight,
Naba Barsha’s charm, a wondrous sight.
A tapestry of heritage, woven with grace,
Each soul, a part, in this cultural embrace.
Rooms for rent, a haven for a few days’ stay,
Immersion in traditions, along Poush’s way.
The Poush Mela tale, a vibrant, living story,
Shantiniketan’s heart, in all its glory.
Underneath the azure sky, melodies take flight,
Echoes of history, weaving day into night.
The Mela’s bustling heart, a rhythmic blend,
Of laughter, colors, and tales that never end.
In every stall, a story whispers its song,
Crafts, arts, and flavors, a jubilant throng.
A celebration of roots, of heritage profound,
Where echoes of tradition joyously resound.
From dawn’s first light till the stars align,
Shantiniketan’s soul in every design.
In Poush’s embrace, a cultural spree,
The Mela’s essence, forever free.
So let the shehnai play, let Baul songs soar,
In Shantiniketan’s heart, forevermore.
The Poush Mela’s legacy, an eternal art,
A celebration of culture that never shall depart.
