Protiti Rasnaha Kamal >> Six Poems >> Poet Write in English


Six Poems

Editorial Note : Protiti Rasnaha Kamal is a very talented poet. There is depth of thought in her poems, at the same time she knows how to make poetry. See the ability to use words and creating images. We don’t have idea any other girl in Bangladesh have written such good poems at this young age. This poet will go a long way. 
সম্পাদকীয় নোট : প্রতীতি রাসনাহা অনেক প্রতিভাবান কবি। চিন্তার গভীরতা তো আছেই,একইসঙ্গে কীভাবে কবিতা করে তুলতে হয়, তিনি জানেন। বিস্মিত হতে হয় তার শব্দব্যবহার ও ইমেজ তৈরির ক্ষমতা দেখে। এত কম বয়সে বাংলাদেশের কোনো মেয়ে এত ভালো কবিতা লিখেছে বলে আমাদের জানা নেই। এই কবি অনেক দূর যাবেন, নিঃসন্দেহে।
Protiti Rasnaha Kamal holds a BA in Neuroscience from Mount Holyoke College, Massachusetts, USA. She completed her O and A levels from Mastermind School, Dhaka. Some of her works have been published in local newspapers.
Sand Castles
The sand castles broke down today
In tears.
You carried some clay with yours,
While I mummified my opinions
And we forever stood in the face of some
unknown endings,
Shooting at the pain of remembering
a night time story.
The story stayed well put, and led to the
Deserted corner of a bed,
which I shared a mirage with.
My thirst flew away in the paper hearts, hidden in a fairy land,
With no magic carpet in sight.
We broke our bed in half,
And read the manual for a quick fix.
We made a fort first,
And then a fortress sculpted itself out
From the sand where we buried our tears.
Remember, we are good sculptors,
And so will be the sand in our refreshed eyes.
The sun grows in us.
It isn’t pulling on the moon anymore.
We are putting it to sleep today,
Tucked away somewhere we cannot go.
We have gone miles trying to feed into
The moon’s madness,
One quiet night, in murmurs
In bustling bazaars, in numbers
And in the midnight bloom of night queen,
Wherever the scent of the moon grew
We packed up our senses, even the sixth
And politely showed it the way out.
Satellites are hard to pin down,
But nature’s tides are home for the soul.
In it, the sun has been dampened for
Quite some time.
We have removed all distractions,
Sun, will you begin again?
The rules of living
The braced fossils of my mind,
They align in haphazard ways,
With some wisdom at the forefront
To chew off a mortar and pestle –
To crush the vessel that crushes, itself.
These rules of living, are sharp
Each bites off until they are bare at the core,
And then, these blunt fingernails
Scratch and itch
At a plaque that forms out of the mind’s
Extensive flossing.
Thank God, we didn’t study medicine.
No torture tool is safe in our grip.
No tentative smile, because
We are proud of our nascent teeth,
Devoid of wisdom,
Recovering from anaesthesia.
Springtime deity
Love is like a springtime deity,
Who blooms incessantly
And in her the leaves circle
Into a crown,
Devoid of thorns or malice.
Potent is its charm,
A mighty concoction,
A drop of which leaves you
Cornered within frames of
Mysterious couplets.
Not easy to catch,
When it falls head first in
The palms of our allies.
Hard to ignore,
When those that hold it
Stab us back,
With its fragile shards.
Love is all-forgiving,
Nothing to search or yearn for
But to accept as it is
When it shows up naked and shivering,
At our doorstep.
Every bead knows what it takes to roll down towards its ultimate fall.
So it resists and tries to cling onto the surface that it loves so dearly.
But soon, its weakness shows and it slips onto
A sieve, which lets go of it as soon as it is caught.
So the droplet belies all forms of its existence, and swirls into oblivion.
Then, it quickly finds itself floating amidst its kin.
That is how a nameless droplet finds its name.
All the best
A thought only pulled me close
When I wanted it to
And hinted at an instinct,
Letting me slide into its world,
A world I had never tried to discover.
It’s music flowed through me
Since I was a child,
But I didn’t catch the precision of the notes.
So, I only let it cook inside my brain
And serve up a banal, scripted word.
I didn’t care for that word.
Didn’t care for its meaning.
So the thought was passed on
To the next girl in line,
Where it found its place in a sober mind,
With wisdom and intellect
Beyond its years.
I wish her all the best now,
And hope she rears each thought that
Comes to her,
And judges them with keen eyes,
Never making the same mistake
A woman made
By letting a good thought go.
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