Monday, June 24, 2024


Dhaka Tribune

Selected poems from Poems At Daybreak


Update : 18 Feb 2024, 02:27 AM



He translates her,

not in the language he speaks 

or in the script she writes,

but in their unfulfilled

mad rush into one another’s eyes

when they make love.

He translates her earlobe

into a winged mountain

that unburdens her wounded heart.

He translates her nose into the bugle

to summon the dying dreams

from her lap.

He translates her nipples

into the script of needles

which stitches her broken nights

with the sunbeams of a jovial day.

He translates her hair

into the language of dancing,

mustard flowers of her afternoon,

when the sun leaves with its decaying youth

leaving a thousand stars blooming in

her soil.

He translates

her lips into honey pots

where the bees mortgage 9

their lives and his tongue hums 

the ocean in her triangle.

Their ship sails forth for the discovery

of the deserted lighthouse

in her canyon.

He is Both


I call him my Majnu.

I suck his breasts,

they taste like my own milk 

that I feed my sons every day, 

my sons of many wombs. 


I call him Laila sometimes. 

He rubs my navel and places 

a hot water bottle on my abdomen.


On days of cramp, 

he massages my thighs.


I call him both Majnu and Laila.


On days when he sits beside me, he 

listens to my stories and cries with me. 

When I explode in pleasure, 

he licks my sweat and

sings a lullaby till I

fall into a deep sleep.


He smells like the father that I 

never had.


He is Laila 

or Majnu 

or both. 


He is my lover.

Joy, Dance, Life


Her long absence

is the Snow of Kars

burdened with childhood memories

and the lifelong pursuit of



For a glimpse of her

a mad heart pummels

the impenetrable snow

of absent time

with the hammer of love.


She is not a diva

or a goddess incarcerated

in rituals, shackled with divinity.


She is fresh air

mad river

a lonely boatman’s song

a common woman sitting on a staircase

draped in the aura of rangoli.


She is

joy, dance, life.




I close my eyes

and go to sleep.

In dream

I land in Kochi airport

or maybe in Bagdogra

or in a deep dense forest

or on a rusty iron bed

or on the words, I type, retype or

sometimes delete.


You wait for me there

keeping a sky on your bosom,

hug me to liberate me

from the cold, piercing

nails of the hugs that

I always had from him.

We then become a river

untamed, unregulated

dancing without feet on grounds,

rushing madly towards our bodies.


I wake up from sleep

and then walk the whole day

towards the same dream

of my nights.


Moumita Alam is a poet from West Bengal. Her second poetry collection, Poems At Daybreak has been published by Red River Publications. The Telugu translations of her poems have been published in a collection titled, Poems That Should Not Be Written.

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