Shabdaguchha: Logo_new edited by: Hassanal Abdullah issue: 75/76


Poets and Translators:

Stanley H. Barkan
Dariusz Tomasz Lebioda
Sultan Catto
Catherine Fletcher
Naznin Seamon
David Lawton
Bishnupada Ray
Ellen Lytle
Richard Jeffry Newman
Roni Adhikari
Dhanonjoy C Saha
Howard Pflanzer
Maki Starfield
Natasha R Clarke
Amirah Al Wassif
John Smelcer
Ekok Soubir
Hassanal Abdullah

A Tribute To

Buddhadeva Bose (1908-1974)

Poetry in Bengali

Hadiul Islam
Suman Dhara Sharma
Mahbub Mitra
Mohammad Jasim

Letters to the Editor

Naoshi Koriyama
Carolyne Wright
Sultan Catto
Peter Thabit Jones
Samantha Jane
Denise Moyo
Chandan Das
Partha Banerjee
Sulekha Sarkar
Somnath Ray

Cover Art:

Thaira Almayahy Husen

New Logo:

Najib Tareque

Celebrating 21 Years of Publication
প্রকাশনার একুশ বছর

edited by: Hassanal Abdullah

    Dhanonjoy C Saha


    I didn’t think the beauty of my
    Childhood would ever end, but it did

    Not because the government was bad
    The military had killed innocent people
    The politicians had abused religions or
    Natural calamities had stifled the economy

    It was because I saw the colors of the butterflies fade
    The bees couldn't collect nectar from flowers,
    Rivers stopped singing their tidal songs
    And people around me forgot to dream for the future

    North Carolina

    Howard Pflanzer


    No cameras allowed in the jury room
    The TV is pictureless
    Feeble wifi for your laptop
    No coffee
    Just soda
    The state is financially challenged
    Things are tight
    Justice doesn’t pay.


    A stamp stuck on wrong
    Ripped off
    Replaced right
    Hanging half unstuck
    Will the survey get there
    I really don’t care
    Maybe its loss will spark a revolution
    If not
    There is a pleasure in not complying.


    No paradise island located in a sea of riches
    No thatched huts and smiling natives
    Only rows of gray and black camping tents
    With a touch of feminist pink
    Housing a cohort of the homeless
    Men and women trapped in limbo
    Scavenging the streets for castoffs
    Struggling day to day to survive
    As the condo towers rise above them
    Pushing them to the margins
    And oblivion for those who want them out of sight.

    New York

    Maki Starfield

    The world
    Was created
    In your image:
    Don’t come here
    Don’t move on
    Run away from here
    Turn to the right
    With your umbrella
    Return to the left
    With your shining cell phone
    Golden accessories,
    With spirits and victories
    Sadness can’t penetrate
    The special bondage of a black
    I just know the right color,
    At the opposite door,
    My heart opens
    From the conflict, from hope
    Of the human race

    My homeland,
    Melancholy yellow
    I love you.
    Your hands
    Grab traces of my shadow
    I prefer the rose tattoo
    You are sunburned
    A mixed flow in flight,
    Unique nations,
    Of burned skin,
    Of an ancient heart
    A light with light
    Make a road
    To the black-less
    Of color!


    Love drops spill
    On your silky breast smoothly

    In love items

    God of underwear
    Saying good-bye

    Moonless night
    A sigh of love without words
    With eternal kisses
    Where my hotness part merges
    With your break trapped
    In the dance of lovemaking

    Like a bullet of love
    Our bodies become
    Only flame and poetry
    In the center
    Of the lovemaking mirror
    Ecstasy, desire
    Perfect lack of our weight
    Oh love!
    Deeper than moonlight


    Amirah Al Wassif


    I remember! Yes, I remember this letter
    When my tears decided to escape
    Out of me, I felt that is better
    My soul took over my shape
    I heard him laughing at me and clearly makes fun
    I could not aware how his love for me
    Became hurtful like a gun

    I remember! Yes, I remember this letter
    When I fell to my knees
    Crying with my pets
    Grieve together
    Watering our pain tree

    I remember your face within the paper
    Looking slyly at me
    I seemed like a victim of a kidnapper
    Or a tiny hay in a big sea

    I remember! Yes, I remember my love
    Feeding my eyes your words
    Your words, your shots!
    Ah! I remember how I would
    Keeping it in my heart, my shell
    But tell me how I could
    Welcome your greetings from the hell?


    Natasha R. Clarke


    The man of silver hair licked the envelope
    inundated with saliva and frost.
    His lips were chapped and paper cut.
    He pushed his thumbs against the edges
    sealing it with a stamp.
    The crinkled paper fit in his coat pocket.
    He put on green gloves and a captain's hat
    pulling it down a bit, covering his glossy eyes.
    His boots were pulled over his thin pants.
    He grunted, "Humph!"
    He stepped outside, the cold stung his nose.
    He took out the withered letter
    and placed it in the snow.
    A young deer came with green-tinted eyes.
    It took the letter in its small mouth
    and left with a nod.
    The man nodded in return.
    He wrote letters to the doe,
    the doe who was his only friend.

    (for Grandpa)

    His wispy hair falls in pieces to the ground,
    the particles tripping over the rim of his nose.
    He lifts a finger to rub away the morning exhaust
    from his eyelids.
    His mouth open and chapped,
    set in one position as he reads.
    He reads poems with his red pen.
    He sits content and happy,
    waiting as his granddaughters write
    for something he can read,
    content and happy
    with his red pen.


    She is caramelized molasses.
    Butter and raisin-colored swirls
    cover her fur.
    Like a lion-Sphinx,
    she stares at me.
    standing strong and tall.
    Her mane of white snow
    cascades down her neck
    like a spoonful of fluffernutter.
    Her hazel-green eyes
    remind me of the scent
    of warm apple cider
    on a brisk autumn day.
    Her tail is like a plume that puffs up
    when her sunshine is showing.
    Like a smurf, she chirps endlessly,
    never running out of breath.
    For hours, she waits by my door
    purring loudly
    for her to be caressed.
    For, after all,
    she is a cat.

    Long Island, NY

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Printed Version
পত্রিকার মুদ্রিত কপি


A Tribute to Buddhadeva Bose

Poetry in Translation (polish)

Poetry in Translation (Bengali)

Poetry in Translation (Ahtna)

Poetry in English 1

Poetry in English 2

Poetry in Bengali

Editor's Journal

Shabda News

Letters to the Editor

শব্দগুচ্ছর এই সংখ্যাটির মুদ্রিত সংস্করণ ডাকযোগে পেতে হলে অনুগ্রহপূর্বক নিচে ক্লিক করে ওয়ার্ডার করুন।

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Shabdaguchha, an International Bilingual Poetry Magazine, edited by Hassanal Abdullah