Portrait of poet Girish Goiric
Being submerged in water,
A wax-candle burning itself.
It’s absorbing darkness as much it can.
Light is born after absorbing the darkness
As like a fetus absorbs mother’s breath
Thus it gradually grew up.
I have a dark wax-candle.
The candle flames up in the light
While the darkness comes closer.
Many men named it, Religion.
Someone named it, Poem.
And few furiously said to me ,’Go far, Graceless’.
Death of all colors is the white color
The same you can get in the coffin of a dead body; in the air too.
There remain some untold words in the air, but
Only DOAM can read those words.
He didn’t know why a man’s dead body is white.
Though, the cave-generation of DOAM got the idea
From a cold and white body’s palm of hand-
It maybe the demography of a man-
Did the map of the world come from the human demography?
Is it from the palm of a hand?
The history of that cave is flowing in our red blood.
But how amazing that red blood is, after death- all
Reds become white. The aroma of the white tuberose
Is always loved by all; but nobody likes its rotten petal.
So the living- hands always bury the dead body and
Always purify them through the fire-bath.
In our cities, the houses are too close!
In our cities, from each other
The people live so apart that
My mother has always failed to be a city-dweller.
She still uses cow-dung to cleanse her yard.
After every prayer, she looks after the cattle;
And for all the creepers in her yard,
She ardently cares.
Though hundred miles away, I can see her clear,
Her every piece of work.
Like an attentive assistant to the driver of
A public bus in crowd,
From this immense distance, my ears can easily hear
Her voice and each of her words towards me.
When I envision my mother as a girl,
Even long before her first menstruation,
She appears in a late-autumn evening
Drenched with lemon-flower.
She is as naked as my life
Because we can be nothing but
Two blind fireflies of the same age.
My mother, Gita Ratna is her name
She reads the Gita everyday in the temple
While I read her very self to build
A temple of my own
Where no God can ever stay.
Mother, when you disclose your dresses
Your whole body turns into a glass.
I notice only myself Looking at the glass that time.
Yet a particular part of our body means a lot!
But when I concentrate on pursuing poems
Or imagining the aesthetic nature of my mother
I forget that particular part.
Why the modern people never think that
Before coming the dresses-Mother and their children lived in a naked
look For a long time under a great affection.
Shortly Poet’s Identity
Girish Goiric was born on 15 August 1987 in Bangladesh. At the age of 14 years, the first poem of Goiric was published in ‘The Daily Bhorer Dak’. He has been working as a Journalist in the ‘The Daily Janakantha’; And author of Foure books which is the collection of poems: Khudharto Dhaner Namta (2016), Maa Adhiparbo (2017), Dom (2018), Meditationgucha (2020) . He edited two books also: Ditio Dashoker Shrestha Kobita (2018) and Boithakhanay Nirmalendu Goon (2020). He got graduated in Accounting from National University of Bangladesh in 2013. His poems was published in the renowned literary magazines and daily newspapers of Bangladesh and India, Spain, Nepal, America, England, Africa, Afganistan. He also attended many poetry and literary festivals home and abroad)