Poems. Niloy Rafiq. Bangladesh

 

Poems. Niloy Rafiq. Bangladesh

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Niloy Rafiq

was born in 6 August 1983 Maheshkhali, Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh. Niloy Rafiq has been writing in the literary pages of local daily newspapers since his school days. Later, his poems were published in national and international literary magazines including various famous little magazines. So far, his notable poems have been translated into more than twenty foreign languages. His English poetry book 'Sun Leaf has already been published under 'Stockholm Project 2033 Global Leader' by Amazon. The number of his poetry books written in Bengali languages is 6 respectively 1. I, the swan float in pure sadness, 2. Thirst's eterni- ty, 3. Salty man's face, 4. Unknown fire, 5. Adinath in eyes, 6. Wax prayer bowed in a clay body. His poetry has a magical, edgy feeling. Poet Niloy Rafiq is like a magician in the extraordinary weaving of words and rhythms.

* To be published poetry book named 'An Incomplete Kiss'.

Contact +88 01745981995 (whatsapp) niloyrafiq@gmail.com Facebook: niloyrafiq

FLOWER OF FIRE

Niloy Rafiq

An addiction to darkness prevails in the school of light

Eyes are to the hidden inside, mischiefs in the mountains

The face lifted upward in shame, fragrance of the flowers of fire

The resonant Sonagaji is a form of truth.

The rose of a brave diary is on fire

The green darkness of fire-burned petals

A tale of the words of the map is told in the cries

Nusrat and Rafi of burned clay are in the heart.

The day-blind friend of memory is the flame of pain

A tearful mind written in a wonderful childhood

An investigation of the murder manuscript is under cover

The witness’s power of attorney is the writing of time

A well to do mirror sees the command by pen

Death penalty, the final address of sin is hanging midway.

Translated by Jyotirmoy Nandy

THE BURNING TORCH

Niloy Rafiq

People in burnt letters on the Chicago streets

Eighteen or twenty working hours, labour sucks blood from body

The sun sets on the walls of exploitation, wages are unpaid everyday

Wearing blood-stained shirts, they’re the ones sitting on the throne in the palace.

A fragrantly united voice calls for a movement demanding the dues

Bullets to the brave march in the estuary of Krishnachura Road

The wounded heart burns, the pain is captivated inside a dark cave

It rains in the mountain of clouds, the whip of storm blow incessantly.

The death penalty is crowned with honor in the victory of the sweat of truth

Turbulent cities and villages are blood stains across the country

The harvest of hard work in the hands of Vijay Lamp

A torch of light in the memorable history of May Day

Translated by Jyotirmoy Nandy