Chanchal Ashraf is an eminent poet and journalist of Bangladesh.


I had poured light, light.
From the depth of the black river, rise and embrace me
The sun comes out of the cloud, for a long while
I was unbefriended.

I tread dust, walking shoeless,
leaves and bracken covering my private parts
Since the morning, evening, since the afternoon;
Night reluctantly merging into morning

I pour light, light.
The moon was absent, for nights were sunken
the chilling smile of the moonbeam maiden.
The sun appears at dawn, its crimson face
leads me to the river;
Once a crematorium; I’m oblivious of bones,
burnt hair,
heaps of ash, grief travelling in the acrid air
You came up, tousled, to clasp me.
I drench in light that body of yours
(she is now mute)

I smear light on your bloodstream
(she is now turned into stone)

This reminds me;
In an orgy of fire, you were tossed into
three parts.

– Nuzhat Amin