Shafiq Nohor

I once wished for an artistic death— sorrowless, painless, simple and beautiful, like a white bird dissolving silently into the mist of dawn. The days, heavy with the weight of life, have pushed me deep into the mouth of a volcano, where my prayers burn in the color of molten fire. No one stood beside me— I couldn’t accept that truth. All around, only the smell of ashes, and through verses of unspoken words the long agony of dying still burns fiercely within my chest. I know—death is not always an end; sometimes, it is the softest syllable of life. Instead of embracing your love, I choose to embrace death itself. This winter, like a wandering bird, I will vanish into the unknown. Perhaps the longing to rest in the warmth of your heart will never return again. Forget me, and forgive all the sins of love.

A shadow lingers though the light has gone. I walk alone, though I once belonged. Close was your voice, yet far was your heart. We stood together, still worlds apart. I burned in silence, turned to gold, Yet you cast me off—uncared, cold. I reached for truth, found only pain, Loved you through loss, loved you in vain. Your absence echoes, sharp and deep, Even in dreams, I cannot sleep.

  In the eyes of men, woman is forbidden A fleeting joy, an excuse for delight. To them, she is but a body, a yearning for touch; Desire encircles her like a cage. Her existence is bound in the rhythm of indulgence.   But By the law of the body, she is a mother. Woven of blood, forged in pain The warm gateway of birth, Where every human child wails its first cry. At the entrance of this world, she stands as a blessing. Yet men march in—unchecked, uninvited Into her very core, as if it bears no sanctity.   Let that unbridled invasion cease. Let respect rise at the door of womanhood.   In the shadows of trees, her face is drawn. Her reflection shimmers in the world’s light and darkness A grand epic of love, sorrow, sacrifice, and serenity.   And man, In the chariot of peace, intoxicated by pride, Believes the woman is merely the shadow of his journey.   But If a woman halts that chariot’s wheel, if fire ...

shafiq Nohor at Dinajpur