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Global Poet : Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah   |   Saturday, 17 July 2021 | Print

Global Poet : Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Poet Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah of Bangladesh


Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah, born on 1st July 1968, in Sylhet, Bangladesh, Masters in philosophy, globally published, recognized, acclaimed, awarded, and translated international poet, essayist, story writer, critic, translator, and translator philosopher. He is a bilingual poet and writer writing in Bangla and English. Shikdar is a global poetry promoter and literary figure. He is the founder and president of Poetry and Literature World Vision. His published books are so far 15. Six on poetry, six on prose and three on a story. He has over 100 articles on philosophy and literature and 400 poems in Bengali and English.

His writings are published in world famous print and electronic magazines, journals, websites, blogs and anthologies like Atunis Poetry, Belgium, Taifas Literary Magazine, Italy, Poetryzine Magazine, Greece-Serbia, Bharat Vision of Motivational strips, Denmark, Dash Web Magazine UK, Pol Magazine, UK, The Poet Magazine, USA, Online Journal Fairy Elf, Ukrain Willwash.wordpress blogazine, Nigeria, Fm786 News Portal, USA, BD Techno Solution, Malaysia, Literoma Culture Flash, India, The Moment International News, Egypt, The Asian, Egypt, Shabdakunja, Bangladesh, Cosmic poetry, India, Hellobangladesh, spain etc. and Anthology: Let Us Breathe(Chapbook), USA, World Poets Serbia Anthology/2021(350 poets of the world), Compassion(100 poets of the world in one theme), Bosnia-USA Womanhood, India, Friends and Friendship, USA, Pol Prose Poetry, UK, Hera: The Light of Woman, Portugal, Healing Through Poetry, Nigeria, Mother: an eternal soul, India, Over The Rainbow, Greece-Serbia etc., Beauty of Life, India and Break The Silence-AMAZON bestseller Anthology, Palestine and against war, Bangladesh etc.
He is interviewed on 21st Century Critical Thought: A postmodern Voice Volume-3, in Writers Mirror, Assam, India on poetry and Bangladesh Television. He participated in WORLD POETRY CONFERENCE-3 in India, and he is invited to participate in KRITYA INTERNATIONAL POETRY FESTIVAL, India. He is often published, and his poems are recited in YOUTUBE channels, BTV, Radio Bangladesh Sylhet etc.
His poems have been translated into Spanish, French, German, Russian, Italian, Serbian, Lithuanian, Romanian, Croatian, Tajik, Arabian, Hebrew, and Hindi languages. Two of his poems have been included with Bengali and English versions in a Russian poetry book by great poet Raisa Melnikova. Shikdar is a translator. He translated the poems of great poets Zlatan Demirovic, Bosnia-USA, Lee Mitterer, USA, Annette Tarpley, USA, Raisa Melnikova, Lithuania, Hana Shishiny, Lebanon-Egypt. Faisal Ayub, Bangladesh-France, Naba Kumar Poddar, India, Ljubica Katic, Croatia, Poetess Bhutan, Bhutan, Mutiu Olawuyi, Nigeria, Marlene Pasini, Mexico, Ewelina Maria Bugaska, Denmark and Jyotirmaya Thakur, India-UK.
Poetryzine Magazine awards him Certificate of Appreciation, Greece-Serbia, Literary Creations, Philippines, Skylark Poetry Society, Bangladesh, Global Excellence Certificate and his brilliant contribution to world poetry and literature Shield of Poetry and Culture by International Cultural Forum for Humanity and Creativity, Syria. From CASA POETICA MAGIA Y PLUMS, Colombia, he achieved Recognition Certificate ARPA DE ORO 2020, International Honor Diploma, Literary Laurel Award, UNIVERSAL GOLD STAR 2020, International Golden Award 2020, Universal Excellence Diploma, Poetic Excellence Diploma and Universal Art and Literature Award 2021. From FLLADI POETIK, Albania, he achieved a Certificate of Gratitude, Certificate of Excellence and a Diploma. From Sahittyapata, Bangladesh, he received a Certificate of Recognition. He received the Christmas Global poetic Fleeting Certificate of Appreciation 2020 from The Poetry Readers Awards. He received a Certificate of Contribution from Online Journal Fairy Elf. The Writer’s Day Certificate of Merit from International Forum for Creativity and Humanity, Morocco, Certificate of poetry presentation from World Poetry Conference-3, India.
His poems were selected and certified Best poem of the Day in International The Poet Magazine website, USA, World of Poets and Author, India, Best poems of the Week in Skylark Poetry Society, Bangladesh and top ten in Literary Creations, Philippines and in a contest by Contemporary Literary Society of Amlor: BANDA(UP-India). He is featured in Skylark Poetry, NBM Bangla Tv, Shahitypata and Daily Asia Bani.
Shikdar is a member of over 500 literary and poetic online groups around the world.


Poetry by Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah


Green Signal


Neither an abstract assurance nor an adverse belief
Rather clicking a green signal in a roadmap
Of logical geography.
Steel-lined belief unfolds natural truth
And smells existence in the law of nature
Given by its creator.

Having raindrops by mother-tree fruits grow fat
As a human fruit is grown up in a woman’s womb.
In natural chemistry, tree turns into like that of
A female figure.

A swamp-view surrounded by green paddy fields.
And villages look lively believed.
A joined ring but any thread or rope
Made by migratory birds hanging with sky-neck
Is an unbelievable showing of believing entity.

Cutting smoky fog how a trusty train runs after
Its goal through a steeled-straight way;
Like that, a thoughtful mind goes through natural objects
In quest of reality keeping appearance away.


A Banyan Man


Knotty equation of racing time all around
Busier everyone with a symbolic gesture
Of self sensitive interest.
Only me kept unbarring all of my rusty windows
To be touched with paddy sweetened wind
Of autumn

Will the peasantry have to go for a waiver
Of loan again?
Burning their crops the inevitable salt
Of the existence
Produced in a chemistry of their sweat and
Paddy scent.

Here is a paddy-burnt yard in my existence,
Sultry midday and the funeral of farming!

The big banyan tree standing in wilderness,
Hanged roots of reminiscence;
I’m its reality and it’s my appearance.

Is it a turn of returning but any harvest
Of a dreamy peasant walking aloof
Through the boundary of the farmland!

But speechless I know how much mixed
You are with paddy scent, how obedient
To your boss and dominate all autumns
With your unregistered landlord hand.


Northern Window


Ordinary words in the soul of gently vibrating prose
Build a poetic hut with the green fire of subjectivity,
If progressive city looks back to a Harappa’s moon
I will sure unbar my window for the northern reality.

Full of my perplexed yard with western grasses
No access to naming in my sensible dictionary,
Find only symbolic moon in the dark night pine
That has not any light for aesthetic missionary.

Cleared a watermark in that full scape portrait
Appeared a shadow or sound somehow albeit.

Bearing a wordy asceticism in that project
Of symbolic drama, while true senses find
Insightfully visible a real lively melodrama.

I explore a progressive opera in the
Upcoming Postmodern age, as
Myth tells a tale alike a lady
Of betel faced in the
Moon barrage.




I swear by the soil, I swear by the handful crops
I swear by a plate of rice-fish and by milky cow,
I swear by the late night air with moonlit drops
By Azan that opens the day of paradise till now.

By scientific cultivation that needs creative try
And by half naked cultivators sweating all over,
Who’s sure of his wage before he becomes dry
With a legal proprietary right by value of labour.

I swear by pure love, equal right and friendship
And passing a lovely night after day’s hardship,
Truly swear by the alluvial land instead of gold
A poet of this soil won’t be ever selfish or sold.

If I break my oath or anyhow make me impure,
you will leave me forever that is rightfully sure.


A Piece of Faithful Cover


A piece of faithful cover could be a study
Of an imaginative dreamy-project
For horizontal outgoing.
Like an outstanding painting of a landscape,
Luxurious mental sculpture or a shining
Of nerval moonlight in the skull
Alike a tranquil moon.

If clicks any logical signal in nerval internet
I will confidently stand at Hegel and open
A dialectical website.

I will trustfully tell you it was not at all a lie
That in deep blue sky a kite alone slept
In asleep with a pillow by white cloud.
It was fondled by some impossible dreams
And got a synthesized relax

Finally started to go a good round
In the space endless with an extreme joy
Of eternal existence.


Tiresome City and Jackfruit Days


In this dreary summer midday
While Indian cuckoo flies in the sky
With nonstop howling,
Sitting in a hidden branch of the tree
Black hooded oriole calls restless,
Inner me searches jackfruit-ripen days
My city days begin to melting away
Alike a summer-sweated real rural wife,
Make me back to a compact cottage
Beside a paddy swamp.

Under the shadow of hijal tree
I, a modern city dweller, come back
To a farmer’s veranda where waiting
A beloved housewife eagerly.

Crossing river Dhansiri, Kapataksmo or
Walking knee-touched water of Buribarak
I wished to return to you,
To your smooth ground’s love
O’ my rebirth-beloved.

But alas! how missing the dropping dot
Of drear from the sky into the waveless water
Of swamp,
Likewise the postmodern effort
Of coming back to your veranda is missing
Into the city noise.




Not of any gold coin, my darling; How could I pay your dower?
If you want, I could give you love of cultivating day and night,
Could you find a solid value of personality in any false power
Have a guarantee for filling condition written in full of insight.

We would be an intimate couple to each other trustfully dear
No difference between the two adjoining in a body and mind,
Next door wives would enjoy our intimacy with a smiling leer
All of your mates would visit you in a true Bengali hearty kind.

Life, love or lust all of mine would be left to your lovely hand
In return as if got the absolute address that is happily signed,
Your bed in the dark night would be always vitally brightened
While a tired hard working day comes to be newly satisfied.

Have a joint life wholely made of bed and plate full of peace,
That is truly fruitful with loving care and cultivating qualities.




By a long turn of river when tired night visits this land
Old women turn beads button in their sleepless hand,
Having moonlighted cultivating land starts to be soft
Tired farmers extend their hands to get true comfort.

The scent of crop is still alive with a beloved around
That conceives the truth of coupled intimacy-bound,
Panicky crops alike you often here in alluvial ground
Since alarmed with looters abruptly appear in a loud.

Even hold my hands in favour of crops and pleasure
Hear the sound of water breaks the sleep of farmer,
Keep ready to leave the bed if needs face to danger
We, dravidian, will destroy all the panic atmosphere.

At last, the river, its shore and sweet night being free,
Hear the sound of love the lover says,”agree I agree”.


A Lovelorn Calling


If your whole days and nights spend friendless-lonely
In the midst of a crowd, then make me a call
In your endearment internet
I would reach your cottage
Breaking knee-touched water.

If wood-packer days pass in psycho-physical agony,
Then send me your load of pain by Hridoypur transport
I’d unload your sorrows just my handed.

If you are unaccompanied by constant walking, Then rest awhile under Hijal tree
And uncover yourself by silvan fondle.

If you are sweated in scorching summer-midday,
Be seated to my veranda and unbutton your dress
Southern breeze will cool your fug.

If your alluvial land is burnt in a draught,
Then step to the soil of a real peasant
Feel how easily you will have been wet
And melted with pleasant mud.

If you are burnt waterless with the fire of water,
be flashed alike Eve with the pre-historic signal Of creative water.
I’ll swallow your fruit of pain like a true Adam.




As if flying your unfurled hair in the air
You were saying—O’ my Bengali man!
Enfold me just in a fruitful emotionally.
Make the soil fertile, don’t go wantonly.
Swing the soil with your muscular hands

This soil is muddy all year round
And easy to cultivating a good harvest.
Swear by your creativity come down to
Cultivable land, plant paddy-seedlings
In Bengali belief as you are a cultivator
Alike your father, forefather and so on.

O’ my downstream man! look herein
Deepwater how cries in the upstream
Save its life by plying your firm paddle
Of manliness, stand against the rival air,
You agreeable Bengali man! I swear by
Peace of life with upping my two hands.

I reply, O’ perfect lady! you are agreeing
Heart and soul, then what could I proffer
You without my heart’s howl!


While I’m in motherly womb


In the depth of a visual meaninglessness
I recall that naughty boy in me caught by mother
While stealing milk,
As if I were standing before my loving mother
In an apologizing posture
My aged face looks lovely red blooming chiliad
Flowers flashed in a coy smile
Now I’m none but an image of delighted soul
Absolutely unmixed any artificial objects
Like the breed in the high profiled creative care
Of motherly womb.
No need to go back in the midsts of appearances
As my soulful reality is the best of all
Feelingly none but a real good boy.





Magic of limited fallacy
In unlimited outer space.
It’s illusion—say, scientists.

I see deepest blue at daytime,
Unlimited astral garden
When night comes.

Is it really an illusion of blue,
Or a dispersion-scatter plot
Of astral lightning?
Limitation of eyeshot builds a blue sky
Visually existent! Then should I tell you
Disability has an amazing ability too?

Imagine, no sky here actually.
No cover for eyesight
Or any landing spot.
Vision nevertheless going on—
A nonstop going
Vanishes nothingness, hence
How long?

Thoughtful ship sinks into a foggy sea-like blue;
Spaceship rounds in sky-like nothingness
Leaving behind sky after sky.

Therefore, real sky? Seven skies? House of God?
No, nothing! Is it possible? If yes, then how and
where He would be resided to be creative!

Someone sings in a nearby hut—
“Millions of stars in the sky;
but moon is only one”!
Rush to the spot and ask—”where’s the sky?”
He raises his hand to the up;
Dark night has captured the blue sky
Even though well set bulbs are shining.
“Where is the moon?”
Setting two hands on couple cheeks of his wife, he says,
“This is the moon”!

A meaningful speculation of nothingness
Brightens a beautiful skyline and vanishes all
Of cloudy atmosphere from the existing sky.


Native sky and spiritual kite


Busiest dailies hurt me like hale storm
Hurt my soft earthen body, disciplined
Mind and vital soul.
Quick changing all atmosphere around
Changing sounds, words and language
Everywhere hue and cry.

Forgetting all of my favourite words;
Like that omitting from memory disk
Even hearing their dying sound
I am whimsically careless then
As if feather-brained box-bond.

I am truly feeling my soundless falling!
Those of vital words remained me alive
For a long time even in modernist dust,
They, either antiquarian or migratory to
An unknown planet of foggy eyed alien
woman walks through a Milky way.

I wished to be a folk singer in your city
Whose unfurled hair flying in vernal air
Wishes to touch sky and house of God,
At least round alike a spiritual kite or a
Ulysses in polygraphic postmodern sky
Of words.
Please let me back to my native words
Save me again from the sinful silence
And set me truly into silent meditation
Of vital words,
Be seated with your smiling face and
Offer me a cup of tea.




Scorching summer sun blisters all earthen lively corpus,
Goats leave whiff through their nose to eat dusty grass.
Dogs restlessly intend to get relaxed anyhow by dribbling;
Summer drops through the tongue even their tails wagging.

Aquatic animals restlessly leap on heated swamp-water,
Making no delay all fishermen-boat quickly run after there
Wiping sweat sunburnt hunters take the fish-fork handed;
Village wives enfold their shari with spinach they collected.

Trailing the sun working days return in their frequent turn.
While leaves down in a bow having kissed by parting sun.
Day workers go back home buying minimum necessaries,
Even though Bengali struggle hard hand to mouth liabilities.

Night remains darker too by hearing bad calling of blind owl,
Hungry baby mouths empty breast making nonstop howl.


Manly Meditation


Fragrance of unfurled hair and all of your true corporealities,
Earthen cottage, flowered yard, rows of betel nut trees,
Flowing lake by your cottage, dancing small fishes
And your small green village by a huge paddy field
All of you I can’t leave with any view.

I’m spellbound with you corporeally and
Never want to die and leave you really.
Bestow me with your logical spell
To make me alive in your love
That is absolutely eternal.

In a smile you speak to ask him
Who only can alive me and rearrange
Everything with you solely.

Just with my corporeal thought
I explore you as an incorporeal one,
Make an ideal skyline of my soul
And fly with you to have the goal.

Flowing of meditation makes me leave
Sinful city of corporeal cry
And experiences the sign of God
In my newly born intellectual sky.
Landing through the soulful milky way
My love spaceship fueled soulfully gets
Finally, it’s absolute runway.



Copyright@Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah


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Posted 2:01 pm | Saturday, 17 July 2021 |

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