Poems by- Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Poems by-  Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Tiresome City and Jackfruit Days

In this dreary summer midday
While Indian cuckoo flies in the sky
With nonstop howling,
Sitting in a hidden branch of the tree
Black hooded oriole calls restless,
Inner me searches jackfruit-ripen days
My city days begin to melting away
Alike a summer-sweated real rural wife,
Make me back to a compact cottage
Beside a paddy swamp.

Under the shadow of hijal tree
I, a modern city dweller, come back
To a farmer’s veranda where waiting
A beloved housewife eagerly.

Crossing river Dhansiri, Kapataksmo or
Walking knee-touched water of Buribarak
I wished to return to you,
To your smooth ground’s love
O’ my rebirth-beloved.

But alas! how missing the dropping dot
Of drear from the sky into the waveless water
Of swamp,
Likewise the postmodern effort
Of coming back to your veranda is missing
Into the city noise.


Not of any gold coin, my darling; How could I pay your dower?
If you want, I could give you love of cultivating day and night,
Could you find a solid value of personality in any false power
Have a guarantee for filling condition written in full of insight.

We would be an intimate couple to each other trustfully dear
No difference between the two adjoining in a body and mind,
Next door wives would enjoy our intimacy with a smiling leer
All of your mates would visit you in a true bengali hearty kind.

Life, love or lust all of mine would be left to your lovely hand
In return as if got the absolute address that is happily signed,
Your bed in the dark night would be always vitally brightened
While a tired hard working day comes to be a newly satisfied.

Have a joint life wholely made of bed and plate full of peace,
That is truly fruitful with loving care and cultivating qualities.


By a long turn of river when tired night visits this land
Old women turn beads button in their sleepless hand,
Having moonlighted cultivating land starts to be soft
Tired farmers extend their hands to get truly comfort.

The scent of crop is still alive with a beloved around
That conceives the truth of coupled intimacy-bound,
Panicky crops alike you often here in alluvial ground
Since alarmed with looters abruptly appear in a loud.

Even hold my hands in favour of crops and pleasure
Hear the sound of water breaks the sleep of farmer,
Keep ready to leave the bed if needs face to danger
We, dravidian, will destroy all the panic atmosphere.

At last the river, its shore and sweet night being free,
Hear the sound of love the lover says,”agree I agree”.