Mohammad Shafiqul Islam

Lamp of grief

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

Three Songs: Kazi Nazrul Islam

Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.

I wish the world were a painting

Now I wonder the world is a painting, an imaginary chamber where captives sing, like a caged dove obeying a hunter enticing free birds to live in bliss. And then I see darkness of dusk fade away as the sun begins to peek in the east.

Love at Second Sight

Dream is a mystery sometimes unfolded amidst creeping eeriness unstipulated to the seemingly compos mentis. As long as my stint in your thought bears a meaning for life because I wish to worship the sanctity of your feeling for me and tree,

Before the Last Breath

After so many years, more than a decade or so, when you pass my home, don’t forget to take a look at the humble roof of haystack and wattle if not the humble me waiting to have a look at your eyes for an epoch.

Cartography

The map I dream drawing every day, Bangladesh, is yours.

The Art of Weaving Time

Maybe you forgot, or dementia possessed you before our union—how else could you keep aloof from your soul, your other soul, your eupnoea?

An intellectual at his finest

Aaj O Agamikaal: Nirbachito Shakkhatkar (Daily Star Books, 2020) by Professor Serajul Islam Choudhury and edited by Emran Mahfuz, a young

July 20, 2023
July 20, 2023

Lamp of grief

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

May 20, 2023
May 20, 2023

Three Songs: Kazi Nazrul Islam

Like a wounded bird, my songs/ tumble down at your feet, my love.

August 27, 2022
August 27, 2022

Love at Second Sight

Dream is a mystery sometimes unfolded amidst creeping eeriness unstipulated to the seemingly compos mentis. As long as my stint in your thought bears a meaning for life because I wish to worship the sanctity of your feeling for me and tree,

August 27, 2022
August 27, 2022

I wish the world were a painting

Now I wonder the world is a painting, an imaginary chamber where captives sing, like a caged dove obeying a hunter enticing free birds to live in bliss. And then I see darkness of dusk fade away as the sun begins to peek in the east.

February 12, 2022
February 12, 2022

Before the Last Breath

After so many years, more than a decade or so, when you pass my home, don’t forget to take a look at the humble roof of haystack and wattle if not the humble me waiting to have a look at your eyes for an epoch.

June 5, 2021
June 5, 2021

Cartography

The map I dream drawing every day, Bangladesh, is yours.

September 12, 2020
September 12, 2020

The Art of Weaving Time

Maybe you forgot, or dementia possessed you before our union—how else could you keep aloof from your soul, your other soul, your eupnoea?

June 25, 2020
June 25, 2020

An intellectual at his finest

Aaj O Agamikaal: Nirbachito Shakkhatkar (Daily Star Books, 2020) by Professor Serajul Islam Choudhury and edited by Emran Mahfuz, a young

May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020

The pandemic in poetry

"The virus is slowing us down to the speed of poetry.” – Billy Collins

January 4, 2020
January 4, 2020

A Poetry Evening at Oxford

Among the contemporary poetic voices, the name of Ilya Kaminsky shines bright. An American-Ukranian poet, Kaminsky has already earned name and critical acclaim, publishing two collections of poetry, which have received rave reviews in front-ranking literary journals and newspapers. His latest collection is Deaf Republic (2019), whereas the first collection is titled Dancing in Odessa (2004).