Shamsur Rahman was a Bangladeshi poet, columnist and journalist. Rahman, who emerged in the latter half of the 20th century, wrote more than sixty books of poetry and is considered a key figure in Bengali literature. He was regarded the unofficial poet laureate of Bangladesh. Major themes in his poetry and writings include liberal humanism, human relations, romanticised rebellion of youth, the emergence of and consequent events in Bangladesh, and opposition to religious fundamentalism.
Early Life and Education
Shamsur Rahman was born in his grandfather's house 46 no. Mahut-Tuli, Dhaka. His paternal home is situated on the bank of the river Meghna, a village named ... more »
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Shamsur Rahman Poems
Roar, O Freedom
What shall I do with the spring when I hear only the cuckoo moaning and cannot see gorgeous flowers blossom? What shall I do with the garden
An Ode To Freedom
Freedom, you're Tagore's timeless poetry and everlasting lyrics. Freedom, you're Kazi Nazrul, the regally maned magnificent man, rapturous in creation, oh joy.
Like bunches of blood-red Oleander, Like flaming clouds at sunset Asad's shirt flutters In the gusty wind, in the limitless blue. To the brother's spotless shirt
Shower me with petals, heap bouquets around me, I won't complain. Unable to move
For A Few Lines of Poetry
I go to a tree and say: Dear tree, can you give me a poem? The tree says: If you can pierce My bark and merge into my marrow,
I Become Happy
When you come from a distant place And rest your feet in my backyard, I become happy.
I'll soon be gone, quite alone And quietly, taking none of you along On this aimless journey. Useless To insist, I must leave you all behind.
rom amidst the plundered temple And the burnt ashes of the homestead A disinterested voice reaches Sudhangshu - 'Will you go then, in the end?'
It has been a few weeks that A dirt smudged postcard with bad handwriting Sitting in his shirt pocket.
Comments about Shamsur Rahman
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Roar, O Freedom
What shall I do with the spring
when I hear only the cuckoo moaning
and cannot see gorgeous flowers blossom?
What shall I do with the garden
Where no birds ever pays a visit?
Oh, how rough and stony is this earth!
Skeletons of trees stand, row after row,
like so many desolate ghosts.
What shall I do with the love
that places on my head a crown of thorns
and hands out to me the cup of hamlock?
What purpose the road serve
On which no one treads,
Where vendors of coloured ice-cream
Or waves of city-inundating processions
are never seen?