There’s no rain seen showering upon the male, female, baby or
the world. Now, every one dreams to have showered in their own style, and it
only happens in the realm of unconsciousness Freud, one of the great master of
thinking affecting most of the thinkers of the twenty century, even today’s
young thinkers or artists who’s a little lust for knowledge.
Every where water dies away and murmurings groan arises from
each and every heart. Who’ll come to soften their heart and mind? Man dies.
Woman dies, Baby dies. Future dies. Fire
sowed in them goggles the way, but there’s nothing they find but hope.
Shahid Kadri, poet of 50s in Bangladesh, pictures the images of the distorted people through passion
and love. Shamsur Rahman, another power poet of 50s drew the appearances of time in a
way the inpseudo reality remained around him in which dreams for people were
presented very artisticly. Muzibul Hoque Kabir, poet of 70s, drives his readers to crying phenomena where
hopes and sorrows of individual collectivey are drawn. Mahmud Kamal, poet of 70s simply
represents the surrounding environment saying about the spontaneous incident
happened within his grasp.
Khaled Hossain, poets of 80s faces off his
time with every single step in the verse of his poetry. Golam Kibria Pinu, poet
of 80s speaks of inward world in the city with collective mind which leads the readers
to a terrific but much known world. Mozid Mahmud, poet of 80s, always draws out completely a different fantastic
world beyond the understanding of his readers the world exists in the gasp of
every individual. Iqbal Karim Ripon, poet of 80s, gets his readers acquainted with the exulted
world of entirely fantastic phenomena.
Soumitta Dev, poet of 90s depicts an
existing world which remains with the clutch of the time.
The common feature in every poet is portrayed that there’s a
want of original whole crying for the humanity. A complete picture of a fertile
land moistures with heavy, blessful rain, which means the positive probability,
took shape in the real world. Does it happen, doesn’t it?
Our talk, thinking miraclely collapsed and the look of our with collective importance stirs up
when the poem “Waste LAnd”
written T. S. Eliot
appears with its own strength, we all are lost to words, and say to ourselves,
‘When will the rain come to our planet?’
Clumsy darkness lies in wait crawling? We’re twisted with a
spectacular display if all on a sudden rain comes with no notice.
RAIN, POETS are
getting IMPATIENT AND RESTLESS, see what happens next?
Hamid Rayhan
Poet, Fiction Writer
মন্তব্যসমূহ
একটি মন্তব্য পোস্ট করুন