Too Close and Too Far Away from Athens


I had no vision, so you called me blind easily!


A storm evoked when I walked on the archeological plain

Hand in hand with Homer! The fragmented history

Shivered wrapped around the hands of the epic…

Both of us were without vision…

While we kissed with sizzling passion amidst pin drop silence,

The wall paintings ushered in the mellowing saxophone.

A troop of born-blind sailors were swimming in the age of water

Valets were waiting with the dress at the bathing-house

The band was playing hydraulus in the half lit half dark yard,

The singing raindrops embraced the bathers…

We stood under the quiet acropolis shade

Diffusing ourselves into the ruins of temples

Or the ancient tales of the golden era.


Our village was immersed under the ancient rain

In search of a little bit of warmth, as if too close

Yet too far away from Athens, like the unresolved hydraulic riddle,

Echoes from the dark era remained like blindness incarnated…


The Complex Maze


Last night I was lost in a complex maze

Going round and round and calling out for you,

You were far away with your very own innate forgiveness.

As I saw the nature burning, I rushed in search of the water god.

He closed his tired eyes like a blind beggar

And sent me away exclaiming, Don’t bother me and leave now!


Where should I go now, where will I find the flow for a boundless swim?

The age old darkness comes closer and laughs out.

Nothing is around in the close vicinity, just spinning, going round, hasting,

Let’s go home outside of the locus of death,

Let’s play the abstract conch tuned with the intricate riddle.

Someone is intensely playing a medley of tarana-tehai.

On a rain swooned day, who is this whimsical merchant

Filling up the ledger book with the nameless accord of numbers?


The Stormy Piano


I row the fog and come home before dawn, I remember

The storm hasn’t played an amazing piano since long.

The swaying fire has been quelled, beside the nightly flames.

Some tunes absorb in painting a vista of bareness!

The waiting for the distant continues. The century’s kites fly over and over

While I am there or not there. The verses of the heart rhymes the urge,

Let’s go back to rekindle the seasoned love stories…!


I attempt to stop them, yet they keep humming the same note,

Severe battles, the fairytale of the fiery youth…!

The rowing morning comes closer, I ask myself,

Is this regeneration, a morning to live perfectly?

The thunder’s chorus echoes a profound call

The touch sensitive soul cuts the hand in broken pieces of its own reflection,

The uneven afflicted moments vibrate in the wind

The long walk stumbles on my feet, the winded up playhouse,

Open my window and do come in,

The deluge will come and play the stormy piano…!


(Translated by Lubna Yasmeen)

About the Poet

ferdous pic

Born and brought up in Dhaka, the capital of Bangladesh, Ferdous Nahar considers poetry to be her pledge to herself and to society. Her wanderlust has made her a bohemian. She has anchored now by the Atlantic, in Canada. Here her everyday life becomes a celebration, rowing her boat in the wild river of poetry and diverse writings. Till date her published books include 13 Poetry Collections, 3 Article Collections, and about 10 joint publications published from Bangladesh and India. Besides poetry, she is also writing various prose, translation, lyrics for music and so on. Painting is her other passion. She finds the sea as the most fascinating element in nature. Black and White are her favourite colours. She is a post graduate from the University of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Altohugh residing in Canada at present, she believes any day she might sail her boat in the bohemian wind, and roam about in different streets of the world.