If You Forget Me - Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

Blizzard

It was a cold day today. The wind was bitter. It hurt my skin.

Tonight, it is freezing. And my heart is frozen.

You'll See - Madonna

You think that I can't live without your love
You'll see,
You think I can't go on another day.
You think I have nothing
Without you by my side,
You'll see
Somehow, some way

You think that I can never laugh again
You'll see,
You think that you destroyed my faith in love.
You think after all you've done
I'll never find my way back home,
You'll see
Somehow, someday

All by myself
I don't need anyone at all
I know I'll survive
I know I'll stay alive,
All on my own
I don't need anyone this time
It will be mine
No one can take it from me
You'll see

You think that you are strong, but you are weak
You'll see,
It takes more strength to cry, admit defeat.
I have truth on my side,
You only have deceit
You'll see, somehow, someday

All by myself
I don't need anyone at all
I know I'll survive
I know I'll stay alive,
I'll stand on my own
I won't need anyone this time
It will be mine
No one can take it from me
You'll see

You'll see, you'll see
You'll see, mmmm, mmmm

A Battered Triangle

Nope, I am not mad.
I am not angry and I am not furious.
I am not lost and I do not see things moving in the distant light shimmering in through the curtains.
I have had bad hair days this whole week and I suck at what I write.
Dear Sir, this is to inform you that the '6 number bus' hit me on its way to Tejagon…

I am a penguin, because penguins are cute. I like penguins.
I like you too. I think you're cute too. I couldn't be you though.
You are round and I am a triangle.
I can be round. Just a little twitch there and a pull here, and there you go.
I am round, just like you, not as perfect though.
Will I do? I am sure I will do.
I wouldn't want you to be a battered triangle.

Robot

Tear out my heart, remove my name,

Deny my existence and choose to ignore me.

Tell me I am lame, I am blind,

I am actually a raggedy-ragged doll.

I am still around though.

With red-apple cheeks and shining-fairy-tale eyes at dusk,

At dawn, I turn out to be the Robot that I really am.

Gibberish – ii

How do you keep that smile pasted on your face?

Your eagerness to please everyone around,

Your ‘lols’ and ‘hugs’ to every stern look,

And the sweetness dripping from your voice,

Makes me want to puke and scream out loud.

Gibberish - i

When I am lonely and thinking of nothing in particular, I like the smell of paper.
The grainy touch and the smooth dampness, where the million people search for a reflection.
Fills up my throat with an unfamiliar, intoxicating longing to dive into the river, naked and crying.

Over The Rainbow by Harold Arlen (music) and EH Harburg (lyrics)

When all the world is a hopeless jumble
And the raindrops tumble all around
Heaven opens a magic lane
When all the clouds darken up the skyway
There's a rainbow highway to be found
Leading from your window pane
To a place behind the sun
Just a step beyond the rain

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?
Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why then, oh why can't I?

If happy little bluebirds fly
Beyond the rainbow
Why, oh why can't I?

Imagine by John Lennon

Imagine there's no Heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

How Can I Keep From Singing by Enya

My life goes on in endless song
Above earths lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock Im clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble in their fear
And hear their death knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near
How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging,
When friends by shame are undefiled
How can I keep from singing?

The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt

Will you walk into my parlour? said the spider to the fly.
Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy,
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there.

Oh no, no, said the little Fly, to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair, can ne'er come down again.

I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high
Will you rest upon my little bed? said the Spider to the Fly.
There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!

Oh no, no, said the little Fly, for I've often heard it said
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice
I'm sure you're very welcome, will you please to take a slice?

Oh no, no, said the little Fly, Kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!

Sweet creature! said the Spider, you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.

I thank you, gentle sir, she said, for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day.

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.

Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing,
Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!

Alas, alas! How very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue

Thinking only of her crested head, poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour, but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed.
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

"Tonight I Can Write" By Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, "The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance."

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. As she was before my kisses.
Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.

Watch Me Grow

I believe its human nature to somehow take the good things in life for granted and forever mope around the not so good things in life. We tend to put aside our blessings, thinking of counting them another day, while running after things probably never meant for us in the first place.

It was a wonderful day today. People, who I had thought were lost, somehow came back into existence. Phone calls, text messages, e-cards, not to mention gifts all the way from kangaroo land and wonderful surprises the whole day.

A few of my crazy friends barged into my office with cake and flowers crawling with insects and sang to me. I was trying to be not embarrassed in front of colleagues who were trying to seem all indifferent towards the crazy situation. Some were desperately trying to sing along with my friends while chewing on to chicken bones. I got lots of hugs today, sweet words and wishes for a long and prosperous life. One even held up his hands, praying to the almighty; let this be the year of a ‘prince in shining armour’ to finally enter my life and sweep me off my feet. Sigh! The day ended with yet another birthday cake, with melting candles and three completely new friends at Café Mango Gulshan.

It suddenly feels like I am shedding my worn-out skin and watching the new one taking place with sparkles and hope in my eyes. I never imagined turning 25 without some friends who don’t seem to exist now at all. I guess I will have to do with the new skin on my back.

I will start over and learn everything from scratch. Counting sun rays through the curtains of my windows will be a thrill once again, and the moon would surely be following me around every night. Darkness will scare me out of my wits and it would be a thrill to make a new friend all over.

Living life would be an exhilarating experience all over, and I am willing to take a chance. Not giving up as yet, so watch while I fill the space with my stupidity, while you fill yours with vengeance.

Old Age and Trunks

I think I am going to have one of those days again, when hardly anything goes right. For one thing, I have to finish at least half of my cover story today, attend this boring Shakespeare class at 6 pm and then go all the way to Dhanmondi where I have to join my friends at Gazi's sister's holud.

Even two years ago, this would have been just any other day. Getting up in the morning, attending a number of classes (let's ignore the bunking period, sitting and moping at Bashori!), going to work, assignments, homework, student activity clubs, exams, shows, phone calls, the plastic smiles and I could go on and on and on. And now, I simply can't manage a day where I can probably count off the things that I need to do on my fingers! I guess this is what you call old age?

I doubt it. I am turning 25 in September 2007, and that’s not really old, is it? Kaushik da says that once you turn 25, you lose track of time and suddenly see yourself as a 40-year-old. Ok now that’s scary!

The days are turning out to be so drab and depressing. Is it because of the heat? I wonder. This heat makes me crazy and mad and makes me want to do crazy things like, cutting my hair off! Now why would that be something crazy??

I have this eerie sensation of this huge trunk, weighing on top of my head, filled with things that I need to sort out before taking the next step. It's getting heavier and heavier by the moment and I don’t know when it will just burst open and spill everything on the ground. Things would get messier. Maybe I should think about fixing and sorting out the trunk as soon as possible, before it becomes all the more unbearable.

Going back to work.

Approaching the Battle Field

I am going to the impossible tonight.

No, I am not going jump off my third floor balcony and see if I can actually pull a Bionic Woman stunt. I don’t think I would scream out loud either, though I really want to. I so wish I could walk all the way to St. Martin’s and just go on walking till my legs get tired.

I am going to get everything back. My sanity, my sense of being, the genuine smile and enthusiasm over anything and everything under the sun.

I don’t think it’s silly to want to fly, sit on a cloud and watch the world down below. I want to believe that there will be world peace and eventually all men and women will be equal and there will be no more wars and we can all chase butterflies and paint flowers and make music. I want to believe in the goodness of mankind.

Curled up on a couch, reading Gone with the Wind in my pajamas and crying with Scarlet O’Hara, eating apples and mangoes from a bowl; its raining outside, making loud splashing sounds while the maid runs outside to get the freshly washed clothes from the line (sounds delicious, like freshly baked cakes!).

I remember brightening up every time I would get a whiff of the wet earth or burning leaves.

I am going to do the impossible tonight. It’s a step towards attaining inner peace. I’ll be getting closer to the spiritual being that keeps slipping away every other day.

I am going to clean my room tonight. God as my witness, no matter how long it takes, I will scrub every inch and throw every unnecessary bit of paper. A good beginning, indeed.

Temper Tantrums

I finally got done with the story. And of course, had a little help from the boss herself to arrange the paragraphs and the ideas a little bit. It doesn’t look bad. Lets see what happens this Friday.

I had a pretty bad day today. I have been trying to keep my temper under control, but the more I try to do that, the worse it becomes. Like for instance, the other day I was screaming at both my mom and my dad, basically having an argument with my mother where my father was the referee. Now the thing is, I have been telling myself for days, to calm down and not to start screaming with ammu especially when abbu is going to be around for a couple of months. The whole thing is so juvenile and immature. Why do I have to scream at people to prove a point?

To make matters worse, I ended up screaming at Ashish da today at work. It was a little embarrassing. I know I could have kept my mouth shut, but I am so tired of people talking about things that they know nothing about! He made a random comment about a judge on Drockstars. It was really nothing and I could have stopped myself from screaming. But I don’t know what came over me and I screamed at him. I literally screamed at him and created a scene.

My horoscope for today even says that I should be a little careful about relating my feelings too openly with people since I might create a scene. I wish I had read it earlier, before anything actually happened.

So much for trying to get a hold on my emotions!

Block

I am so unsure of what I am doing. I had assumed that working on this story would probably be better for me, but everything is just getting hazier and I can actually see numbers and figures doing somersaults in front of my eyes!! I so need to scream!

I should have worked on this longer or maybe just should have given it to someone else in the team to work on. What in the world do I know about the Bangladesh economy and how the remittance has increased from a 3.8 to a 6 billion USD? And these figures have changed so much in the last few months that it is so hard to keep up with them!

I can only see and understand the plight of the poor young men with big dreamy eyes who want to flee to a foreign country for the sake of a better life and three meals a day. They sacrifice everything, their country, their families and step into this zone, which always existed only in their dreams. They move on and face the hardships, in spite of the uncertainties that prevail.

I can't seem to write a proper sentence anymore. There is no coherence, no sense, no impact, and no soul. I have no enthusiasm and I practically see everything in black and white and grey. I think I need to go home and sleep. It's almost 11 pm and I am still at work, typing away nonsense and have no idea what do for my cover.

A weary-eyed cofession

I am SO PROUD of my abilities:D

I believe that I am a true communicator, or probably getting their soon. I can talk to people, smile at them, make them believe that the sun is really made of gold. My eyes can speak loud and clear, they define the all-worldly aura, pure sophistication, comprehension of the mind, soul and the heart. I understand. I am one of you. I am a part of you. I know how the world can get to you, sure, I have been there, done that. I am here for you. Look at me smiling out, shining and standing out in the crowd.

I am proud of my written word. Silence can sometimes work as a way out of many dilemmas; silence is strong, powerful. However, the written word takes over silence and gives it shape. You fix your points, defense and all the vocabulary you can gather. You make a list of your aims and targets and predict a probable future. You pick a point and talk about the pros and cons. I do that all the time, and smile at my success. The pen (in this case the keyboard) is indeed mightier than the sword.

But, you are too powerful for my words and all my worldly reasonings. I, thus, bow down to you, to your superior being, to the power of your dominance and the glamour that you showcase. You light up the dark with your stature, with a mere look, a shrug and a nod.

I suffocate yet I wonder at the space you create.

I bow down to you and look at you to write my fate . I now have silence for you, a peaceful and sweet silence for you to taste.

Now I belong to you.

Memory Attack - (i)

There are many a time when I get hit by a rush of memories. Sometimes they make me sad, at times they make me laugh out loud, smile secretly or just cry like a baby. It is an usual scene for me, so it really is not a big deal:) Recently, however, I have been getting these rushes of flashes and memory-attacks a whole lot more than usual.

During the Gulf War (the first one of course), we had to flee to Jeddah, the Western Province from Dhahran, the Eastern Province, where we lived in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I was not more than 7 or 8 and used to have tons of fun with my cousin Kashfi, who used to go to the International Philippines School back then. I asked her to teach me a song that she learnt at school.

It was a very sweet song, and I loved the childlike flow to it while singing. I put the lyric below, though I am sure I forgot a few of the words.

Smile the while you kiss me sad adieu,
When the clouds go by I'll come to you,
La la la ta da ta da,
Till we meet again, my dear.

Wedding bells will ring so merrily,
Every tear, will be a memory,
So wait and pray each night for me,
Till we meet again.

Now when I remember this song, or just hum it to myself, I realise the sorrow being expressed here. It's beautiful yet sad, especially when one sings it. Whoever wrote it definitely has a way with words and also has a beautiful way of saying goodbye, very moving.

Lighting a Candle for the Martyrs

The best part about Independence Day to me is the night before when the survivors and the witnesses from the war relive the moments and share them with the world. I was watching people like Shireen Haq and Sultana Kamal on television last night and was listening to what they had to say.

More than what they had to say, what intrigued me was what their eyes had to say instead. When Bangladesh was declared an independent country, names of several intellectuals and people who actually made a difference in the country were being announced on Betar. Names like Munier Chowdhury, Shahidullah Kaiser and many more were being announced, when Sultana and her little sister heard their mother’s name being announced as well, as one of those who had to sacrifice life in return for freedom. She had to hear it on the radio, that along with all the intellectuals who were brutally killed, her mother was one of them. As she said, it was very difficult to absorb.

My imagination, which sometimes crosses its own limits, led me to actually see reflections of houses burning, people running away, murder and rape in their eyes – all the more vibrant, expressive and scared.

Lighting a candle for each martyr is probably not enough.

But I have so much to be thankful for:

• three meals a day
• a roof on my head
• the option to choose my way of life (well…..)
• spending a holiday doing absolutely nothing
• taking life for granted

And so much more.

This write up might not make much sense to some, but I was just writing down my thoughts, trying to figure out what I would have done if I were a child of the 70’s and watched my family being dragged to the hell hole, screaming and crying and scared and absolutely pathetic. I guess you would need more strength to watch a loved one suffer and rather take it on yourself.

Nonetheless, the spirits of those are in fact walking around, at least I believe they are, watching us, listening to us speak, in fact even watching me write this silly entry. Maybe they are even screaming, trying to stop those who are corrupting and re-writing history.

I walk free and question those who block my path, not that I get an answer, but I still ask.

For an independent Bangladesh, on its 36th year: March 26, 2007.