English poetry, Poetry

The pensive Spring

On the road I was, travelling,
When I encountered spring
In the guise of a boy,
Sitting on a roadside park’s railing;
He was, perhaps contemplating-
These shrubs here,
Will bear the champa flowers!
Back from work when Malati comes,
In her hair she will weave, some.
And where are the marigold plants?
Orange and yellow, in a riot will appear
When the marigolds bloom
In the park’s corners.
I will also aid
in blooming the violet Nayantaras.
The girl at the tea-shop on the pavement
Will pluck them to weave a Garland
While at play.
With my flowers will the morning bloom.
Their fragrance will the night inhale.
My flowers will be love’s offering.
Their vivacity will dispel life’s suffering.
In this city of grey concrete and black smoke,
Amidst this land of green, saffron and red,
In this city’s park,
I have to create a bloom,
shades and hues
Different and new.


Copyright reserved @ Goutam Dutta




काला अक्षर

पता नहीं क्या ढूँढता है वह,
कागज़ और किताबों के पन्नों पर।
शायद काले अक्षरों मे
अपने ख्वाबों का राख ढूंढ रहा हो?

IMG_20200217_175130_832Copyright  reserved @ Goutam Dutta

Hindi poetry, Poetry

खो गए ख्वाब

कुछ सपने हमने भी देखें थे।
लेकिन किसी बेरहम ने झकझोर कर जगा दिया
और वे ख्व़ाब जिन्दगी की चकाचौंध रौशनी मे
दफन हो गए।

Copyright @Goutam Dutta



English poetry, Poetry

Delaying justice

As the reddish orange tongues of flames leapt up hungrily,

Eager to feel and taste the cold human flesh.

The murderer felt a thrill coursing his veins.

Justice, he knew for sure, would now be delayed!

Copyright reserved@Goutam Dutta




Bengali poetry, Poetry

বেলা শেষ

মৃত্যু তুমি আসবে কেমনে
কোন দেশ এ, কোন রূপে?

আসবে কি ঝড়ের বেগে,
ঘূর্ণির পাঁকে, পেঁচিয়ে নিতে?

কিম্বা আসবে বীর সৈনিকের বেশে,
তোমার জয়ের ঘোষণা, যুদ্ধ শেষে?

আসবে কি তুমি নিঝুম রাতে,
মন ভোলানো এক স্বপনের সাথে?

কিম্বা একদিন চলার পথে,
নিয়ে জাবে খেলার ছলে, হাতটা ধরে?

মৃত্যু তুমি নীরব কেন?
প্রশ্ন গুলোর উত্তর কি জান?

তবে তুমি থাকবে, আমি জানি,
বন্ধু হয়ে, শেষ বেলার সহযাত্রী।




English poetry, Poetry



The shower had stopped and the raindrops hung from wires and leaves
Swinging gently in the breeze,
unsure of the new surroundings,
loath to making new commitments to the world below.


Spring came with it’s commitment to spread warmth and cheer.
It impregnated the air with love, awoke the cuckoo and
reached the spot where the gulmohur tree would eagerly wait.
Only to find the gulmohur replaced, by a concrete pillar.