Happy New Year

Standing on the edge of this year's swan song,
I marveled at a spectrum of dark cores and bright shores.
Three hundred and sixty five long.
(Happy new year)

I struggled within and pursued happiness.
Friendship subsided my ire; so did toil.
Three hundred and sixty five relentless.
(Happy new year)

I loved beyond (my sweetheart) and kissed contemplation.
'Freed-will' subsided my demons; so did accidental romances.
Three hundred and sixty five elation.
(Happy new year)

I rebelled silently and let loose imagination.
Hope subsided self-doubts; so did courage.
Three hundred and sixty five brave passion.
Happy new year.

Dawn of A Winter Sky

Boundless crystals on a winter dawn.
Nature's tears and her silent yawn.
Muddy clouds in the midnight sun.

Faraway, faraway, flurry of lights run.
When the lazy luster caresses loud,
a vagabond bird glitters almost sound.

Nomadic wings of the bleeding sky.

Hark, hark! flapping sound nigh.

One of Those Days

 By Edward Hyde  

This short story won second place in the "short story contest" by Sponge, Fall, 2013 in the University of Utah. (http://thesponge.eng.utah.edu/issues)  


It was a gloomy October day in Salt Lake City and Vy reached her lab early morning at 8.

  "Hi", she greeted Spencer, who sat next to her desk at one corner of the lab. That corner was relatively darker than other parts of the lab.
  "Good morning Vy. Dr. Jekyll was looking for you half an hour ago", Spencer told her while watching Ultimate Frisbee game on YouTube.
  "Ah! He talked with me for two hours last night. What does he want now? I just want to get out of this lab; tomorrow if possible." She sounded frustrated and nervous at the same time. Her PhD committee was going to meet at 2 PM that day to decide on her defense date. In last few weeks, she experienced bipolar mood swings ranging from the despair of failure to the hope of future happiness.
  "Hang in there, Vy. You will be fine. You've worked hard for the last 6 years; now it's only a matter of a few months!", he tried to calm her down.

  While writing her thesis, she'd appeared for interviews in chemical industries. Two weeks ago, a company in San Diego offered her a job. This bought her three months' time to defend her thesis and join the company. This would not make Dr. Jekyll happy as he wanted her to take a post doctoral position instead of an industrial job. She lost whatever interest she used to have in academics during sixth year of PhD.

  Professor Jekyll's bacteriology lab was placed at one end of the new Skaggs Pharmacy Building. He chose that spot carefully in order to stop the smell of stinky bacteria from spreading.

  "Vy, did you culture bacteria last night?" Marie Antoinette, a post doctoral researcher rushed from the Biochemistry side of the lab and asked urgently.
  "Yes, I did. Why?" Vy replied.
  "It got spilled from the incubator and now, the whole place stinks like skunk. Dr. Jekyll was mad at this." Vy ran to the culture room without saying a word and started to clean the mess immediately. It took her almost two hours to clean up the yellow colored spill. Once done with cleaning, she started to work on the power-point slides of her presentation.

  Suddenly, Dr. Jekyll opened the lab door at the far end and shouted, "Vy, are you in yet?" She sprang from her chair and hurried to her working place. He found her at the edge of the work desk where she started to label random vials with a black sharpie.
  "When are you going to show me your power-points? I came this morning looking for you, but, you were not here." Before she could reply, he started again, "And the bacteria spill is not acceptable to me. This is not professional." Her face became pale and a few sweat drops gathered on forehead. Then, a cruel silence followed.
  Spencer walked gingerly towards them and interjected, "Vy, you have a phone call." She was relieved at Spencer's intervention though angry with Marie Antoinette, who had probably reported her crime to Dr. Jekyll.

  The phone call was a hoax. This was a common practice in the lab to save a student from the firing line of Dr. Jekyll. "Aha, okay.......okay. Sounds good.......Amm, okay," Vy responded to the dead phone call. Having realized that Dr. Jekyll was not around, she stopped talking to the phone and went back to her desk to give the final touch to her presentation.

  At noon, Dr. Jekyll walked in and demanded that Vy show him the slides. "It is almost four weeks since we submitted the paper. I hope it will be accepted. Once you submit your third paper, you should be able to graduate," Dr. Jekyll spoke as she was changing the slides for him. She frowned and released a deep sigh.
  "I am running the last experiment and will be done writing the paper in December. I would like to defend before Christmas", she started with some temper but ended with almost pleading. Deaf to her voice, he asked her to make a few changes and wished her luck.

  The meeting was started at 2 PM. Her eyes were bright but uncertain. Five committee members were seated at a rectangular table. Dr. Jekyll started the proceedings by introducing her to the other committee members. Halfway through her presentation, one of the members stopped her to ask the mechanism of bacterial infection. Then, a deluge of questions followed and the committee suggested more experiments. It was one of those days when her answers were all over the place. After much deliberation, they decided that she would graduate sometime in the Spring semester. She walked slowly to the lab and sat down with her face on her hands.

  "Oh, no! The reviewers have rejected my paper", Vy spoke softly while still reading on her computer screen.
  "I am sorry. You are a fighter and you will fight back hard," Spencer made an effort to keep her spirits up. The lab door at the other end opened fast and Dr. Jekyll walked straight to her desk, probably to give her lectures.  

  Vy tried her best to hold back tears. Outside the lab, it started to pour heavily from the gloomy heaven.

Oh! Nadezhda

Infatuation

A robust voice on a gloomy October evening announced
your passion for freedom and humanity.
A rush of rhetoric swept away the university premises.
My dispassionate numbers drooled over your firebrand.
1% : 22%, 0.1% : 11% are men : wealth in America,
a curse of 21st century inequality.
The promise of America is between the sky and deep sea.

Love

I saw the dawn of proletariat; good morning my Nadezhda!
Let us wake up now as opportunity knocks at the gates.
Let us incite against $7.25 wage when billions are in profit.
Add your acerbity to the fuel that just ignited a fire.
Our voice got sharper at the altar of Government propaganda.
there, we burnt the brightest.
Your flame kept me warm all night long, thank you!

War

On second day of occupation, the cold wave of penury hit us.
At the street corner, we met with Jesus Christ, exhausted.
His crucified bloody body rebelled, still being kicked by greed.
He offered love to starving kids of main street.
And, I struggled against a few strong Men but could not save my love.
O Nadezhda, is this the end of us?
War is still on all the streets; how much love left in you, Jesus?

Death

The funeral is the end of your one life cycle but not your humanity.
Red and white flowers on your grave are our shared memories.
A bunch of tired but unyielding wills,
low sound of your flapping wings.
A march of our infatuation, love and war and your grande finale.
Goodbye my Nadezhda.

E= hv= mc2

You are blue and young, only a few light years away.
I wait for eternal darkness to arrive every evening,
for you to bright up a halo with a burst of energy.
Your constant smile in Hubble's universe and
your dancing photons are equations of my future.
If you see my mother, tell her to slow down.
If you see my dad, tell him to take good rest;
he is running all his life in four dimensions.

You are young and brilliant blue of midnight horizon.
My feet on an arrow of time start to break the blindness
and follow your light amid cacophony of wide open field.
When I get tired, I renew myself by the shower of your duality,
eh! dazzling wave-particle on the tangent of summer curvature.
I am closer to your blue frequency now more than ever.
Let us dance together at a rhythm of our resonance.
We are a star of infinite darkness, my matter-morphosis!
..................................................................
The equations of motion in Newtonian mechanics were replaced by similar equations between matrices; it was a strange experience to find that many of the old results of Newtonian mechanics, like conservation of energy etc., could be derived also in the new scheme. Later the investigations of Born, Jordan and Dirac showed that the matrices representing position and momentum of the electron do not commute. This later fact demonstrated clearly the essential difference between quantum mechanics and classical mechanics.

Werner Heisenberg in Physics and Philosophy
(Chapter II. The History of Quantum Theory)
..................................................................
The difference between Newtonian mechanics and Einstein's theory of relativity is this: In classical theory we assume that future and past are separated by an infinitely short time interval which we may call the present moment. In the theory of relativity we have learned that the situation is different: future and past are separated by a finite time interval the length of which depends on the distance from the observer. Any action can only be propagated by a velocity smaller than or equal to the velocity of light. Therefore, an observer can at a given instant neither know of nor influence any event at a distant point which takes place between two characteristic times. The one time is the instant at which a light signal has to be given from the point of the event in order to reach the observer at the instant of observation. The other time is the instant at which a light signal, given by the observer at the instant of observation, reaches the point of the event. The whole finite time interval between these two instants may be said to belong to the "present time" for the observer at the instant of observation. Any event taking place between the two characteristic times may be called "simultaneous" with the act of observation.

Werner Heisenberg in Physics and Philosophy
(Chapter VII. The Theory of Relativity)

2010

Saturday, September 4^th

And there you are, at last!

Sitting on a low wood by the edge of a narrow lane,

your wait celebrates every moment dashing to 6 PM.

Under slanting Sun and your bright eyes,
beats of an unknown joy evolve in my heart.

A spring of your straight smile flows instantly;

possibly, still vivid on the western crimson riot!

Our nonsense talks about cop chasing car,

Anderson Hall through almost bleeding Fall,

and your love for Oreo brownie ice-cream,

as if everything is a fast infatuation!

As evening fervor blossoms the brightest,

innocence glimmers amongst glitter of our eyes, just!

Friday, September 10^th

Radina’s Coffee, 3 PM

Early romance getting fervent,

we sit by the window glass facing the same narrow lane.

I am afraid today if this is a dream,

moving rapidly through multitude snapshots.

Happiness on your smile abundant, you rejoice,

and I wonder if it’s just the random weekend vibe!

East Stadium, 11:30 PM

Night falls and green turf becomes brazen by September dew.

Train of impulses takes us over now,

soft words culminate into touches restrained,

I see sensation on your dove like neck.

Under a million glittering darkness,

we look far above in the ever unfolding mystery.

Tenderness moistens aloud on our trembling lips.

Monday, September 13^th, evening

With our every passing zeal in the thunder evening,

chains of inhibitions are liberated one by one.

Now, you unleash yourself as passion arrives.

The gate of ecstasy opens up in a rage.

Fast murmur of our breath follows veiled aroma lissome,

I see goose bumps from your neck to your bosom,

Some lines between us melt into glory,

with every paint on your lips and fingers sublime.

Whisper by whisper, bite by bite,

bursting thrill colors a hickey on my neck.

Wednesday, September 22^nd, Konza Prairie

Wonder of fading rays on the cloud of heaven

leaves a trail through just showered prairie.

Blinded by cold sun, we kiss, see time fly!

As stars get brighter and moon burns full,

we start towards cacophony of wild.

Adrenaline takes over curvy roads little known.

We believe, you pray and we believe again.

Warmth by warmth, I sense you the most today.

Walk by walk, I live an age in this moment halfway!

Stefan, I and A Few Others

I dedicate this work to my PhD adviser, Prof. Stefan H. Bossmann.

Under the lull of a purple town,

a brilliance touched by eccentricity

incites motivation, weaved in freedom of thought.

A glorious rainbow rises in the dark rooms of sweat and sweet.

Every cyanine lights up my mind infinite;

I would hold a candle to those cells on the horizon.

Dreams and dreams, your loudest song alive!

Multitude of parachutes migrate in bright and blue

in the deepest darkness of the ocean bed.

As power of imagination charges,

bio-luminescence makes a leap from the ocean to CB 344.

Step by step, a party of molecules starts in a round bottom flask.

Fire, Fire! set alight those cells;
let them die and us live for a while.

A touch insanity flirting with risk, your grandest show!

.................................................................

Cyanine: A range of dyes that we synthesized in lab in order to image tumor

Parachutes: a metaphor for jelly fish whose luminescence is being used for radiation therapy

those cells: cancer cells

CB344: synthesis lab

An Evening With Dostoyevsky

On a low light evening, I went to an underground Moscow bar.
There, I met with a filthy, ruffled face in a dark corner.
A drunk gambler, but, what an amazing charisma!
I sat opposite to his table and an obnoxious smell welcome me.
I saw Russian damsels hovering around his prodigy. 
He murmured an introduction to a revolutionary manifesto.
It was about blue and white collar,
less oligarchy and more happiness.
He declared Putin a Rasputin, a failed "Superman".
"Keeping fellow men impoverished is crime,
that deserves punishment."
His murmur became thunderous, almost epileptic!
Next, a few concubines offered him their ample thirst.
Nothing distracted him at that point and he went on aloud.

I asked if we would become evil as we plotted against devil.
"greater good would follow", he thundered.
I shared with him my trajectory of "greater good"
by the length of mighty Brahmaputra river.
Two decades of deception and wile,
two decades of lost childhood!
There was prevarication of ideology and ideals. 
"Red October promise was a facade of socialism.
It was an orgy of oligarchy;
every gulab became gulag."

I asked,"Why is Pussy Riot Karamazov being punished?
A blasphemy or a veiled avenge of Rasputin?"
"Only a benevolent 'idiot' can save us.
Now, we wait for His arrival to wipe out our days of sin."
I said, "He may have already returned, but, He is crucified by-
Government, organized religions, liberals and conservatives."
Fanatics!

To A Secret Lover (Illusion)

"The very essence of romance is uncertainty." Oscar Wilde

Red roses and dark chocolates will surprise you this morning.
You will ask if anyone saw me leaving a part of adoration on your door.
Few names will cross your mind, but, you will still be wondering.
Dark chocolates will melt my infatuation into your revelry.
Every cocoa bit will make you wonder if love is a dark inebriety.
Then, you look keen and you will see my dreams on the velvet petals.
Some will be brilliant like your red hot blouse.
Some will be cold, February cold of our frozen inhibitions.
Some dreams are lofty hopes, to see you every Wednesday and
to run to the summer rain beyond scarlet celebration.
Some dreams are pure pale, your hidden treasures deserve my expedition.
You will know me in those screaming dreams of yellow morning.

Epilogue (Reality)

Dear Fab,
               When I wrote "To A Secret Lover", I was thinking about you. Not knowing too well was compensated by the power of imagination. Why should you know this? Because a) you are the protagonist in the poem, b) when my biography will be written someday, the posterity must know who the secret lover was and c) I have always adored you. Only cardinal sin I have committed is that I painted you in red; it probably should have been white which is your favorite color. Do not say anything now, your silence is my imagination.

Mausam,
              Wow. I did not expect such a message. It was nice, but also made me uncomfortable, especially since I am engaged. I am sure the posterity will remember you for something else than any inspiration I had.

Killing

It was a cold, December Friday.
You waited for a lovely weekend with your little girl.

Travel to a fairyland, to the warmth of Merry Christmas.
But, cruelty unleashed a psychopath among children;
Mother earth soaked red and every bit of innocent laughter.
Echoes of your brightest flower were never heard again.
Heaven too changed its color from blue to black

in the hope to cry a gloom to wash away your tears.
Mothers of Newtown,
"Do you still look forward to the weekends?"

You do remember the day you brought your baby home;
You looked at the back seat often while driving your car.
The miracle arrived with a scream to pour joy into your soul.
But on a Friday, a psychopath scared away the miracle forever.
Now, you wonder why; your beliefs are challenged by that fatal day.
Your dreams and hopes are dashed by the sound of sin.
When your son asked where his sister had gone, you cried silently.
Fathers of Newtown,
"Do you still look at the back seat while driving?"

Lincoln's moral high ground divided and united a nation.
Morality is, now, your propaganda to lecture gullible Americans.
When a soldier dies in the senseless caves of Karbala;
when a child is dissolved by the bullets of second amendment,
you see money in war and in gun lobbies. (institutionalized corruption)
Red is the color of money and red is the color of Washington DC.
Politicians of America, "Do you see the blood of the kids in your hands?"

Of Love and Lust

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

I'll prepare a brand new recipe for you, both love and lust.
Zubrowka on rocks, hot kebab, Clapton's guitar and my poems.
We will start our conversation with color red.
I'll paint tear drops from Gaza Strip right below your belly button.
And, color my love on your summer bosom; what a rhapsody!
My favorite poems will echo on your agile heart beats.
Later, we'll discuss humanity of Mandela and his last few days.
You will ask for more love as darkness arrives.

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

After second drink, we will dive into the moon soaked pool.
There, we'll revisit our green rebellious days on mean streets.
Bullets of second amendment, privacy of fourth amendment!
At half past two, we will drink our last; dance till lust takes over.
As clouds obscure blue heaven, I'll honor your crimson lips,
and a purple tattoo, a relic of lost love on your wild back.
Finally, brisk wind from the clouds will invigorate your desire.
And, art of my touch will color you the brightest in the dark.

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you.

Next morning, we will rekindle our lingering sparkle from last night.
Yellow will be the color of your mellow surrender to me.
Your rousing dark brown hair will still revolt for the night's orgasm.
A flurry of my love will cry aloud on your twinkling eyes.
Then, we will express our shock at American boots in Damascus
and at how the days, the weeks and the months will unravel for us.
As the sun fades, I'll paint scarlet on you in the heaven of clouds.
Orange will be the color of our hope and love and lust........

Come in white this weekend; I will paint all colors on you, sweetheart.

Happiness

I

I searched happiness in-

pale yellow pages of history.

    Abraham Lincoln was weeping
    on hallowed ground of Gettysburg.

    Loud gun shots silenced Gandhi
    and Martin Luther King.

eternal meditation of the saints.

    When looked at the face of silence,
    I saw children of Newtown in a pool of blood.

II

I marched along side men
and women who shouted "Azadi."
Our voice thundered hearts of evil
in Cairo, in Benghazi, in Tunis.
Then, I swam to Homs via Jerusalem
in the river of tears and sigh.
I saw my mother
in every smile and wrinkle of unknown women.

Promise of a paradise on earth haunts me.
I am a son of a cruel revolution.
Bit by bit, metamorphosis of every
thunder and promise into hollow dream.
Happiness is an eternal struggle.

III

I made friends of all sounds and colors.

Our crescendo ignited the dead of the night.
We danced to the passion of youth and acid.
All became one!

In the morning, we became different again. 

Every molecule mocked at me with utter disdain.

My only hope was in the denial of reality,
so, I built prisons in mind.

IV

I kissed my girl-
sometimes in sweat, sometimes in mud.
Her every loud cry defined me.
As the symphony of our frenzy faded,
I looked at her brown eyes without thrill.
I woke up and off to run a few miles
on the curves of the city.
I searched happiness on those curves
of less human but more spaces.
I drained myself and
found lucid dreams in sleep.

Youth and acid,
tears and revolt,
love and sex,
dream and death;

Happiness lurks.

A Letter from Zakopane

Mausam,

I am sitting on the porch of a dilapidated wooden cabin,
hidden in the majestic might of Tatra mountains.
I am reading your poems about me.
Today, I would like to reply to your every enactment.
This is an attempt to redeem myself from your assassination.
I hope to rise from the ashes of our "brief but bright" fire.

First, you wrote "Happy Birthday To You."
There, you said you could not wish me happiness.
Ah, I pity your poor soul filled with grudges.
I was upright with you from the day our eyes met.
You thought you could rewrite my history and change my future.
How presumptuous was your ever optimism and iron will!
I wanted you to let me go, but, you decided to embrace melancholy.
In the passage of life, you lived in the magnificent denial of my whim.
I was never secured in your arms; neither was I ready to be loved.
If you must know, I am a mother now and I am happy more than ever!

Then, you wrote "Love Letter"; you painted me as a materialistic whore.
Indeed, this poem speaks loudly about your own insecurity in love.
You were a dreamy romantic, but, you could never build my Tajmahal.
I still drive an old car to work and live in a comfortable heart.
My hard work is rewarded and I am promoted in my job.
What is so wrong about these aspirations of life?
Your obsession with coloring me with the colors you like
doesn't make me a manipulative bitch or angst of your poem.

Finally, my existence was denounced in "Goodbye Love."
I never intended to love; I brought only remnants of me.
You were relentless; there, I perceived hope of a brand new life.
You cannot blame me for lighting your simmering desire.
Smoky mountains and Caribbean blue provoked us shamelessly.
I would never mummify our thrill inside a pyramid of fire.
You decided to carve every detail on the sculpture of love and pain.
I was healing by the blissful ignorance of your passion
til your poetic assassinations opened up these wounds.

Yours sincerely,
Emilcia

Zakopane
Poland
June22, 2013

A Cleopatra Kiss

If you care about my side of the story, there was breezy love,
rarely in fragments and figments of a fabulous fable.

We were lost longer under the night sky than the bright blue.
And for some unknown reasons,
we kissed more in the summer than in the winter.
A splendor of Andromeda flared an obsession in us.
At least, I thought that way till the day you, Ah!

Did I fail to read you and your sublime subtlety?
Did you chase a million rainbows beyond the eternal darkness?
You never told me even if you did.
Why did you take my hand with fleeting swiftness?
Was it sudden desire or fear of a hapless light falling upon us?
I can't remember; my memory is fading fast.
These words are, perhaps, worthless babel for you now.

A few summer lines on your allure dazzled through your virginity.
I captured blue and red stars from infinity and scattered on you.
Often, I dreamt a silhouette of Cleopatra;
she was never my ambition in the frame of my flame.
Beatrice was. But, her inimitable beauty did not fit my, Ah!
Thus, I could never become Dante in your might of myth.
A Cleopatra kiss blinded me that night and I became Julius Caesar!

An Ode to My Mother / মৰমৰ মা

This is "Poetry on Canvas Experiment". The water color painting, Ma aru Moi (Mom and me) is by Tirtha Bharadwaj (www.pencilandcanvas.blogspot.in) and the poem is written by me. 

A humid, horrid day in July arrived only once in your bright life.

On that day, marching sound of the students burnt our home street.

And, crowd of dark clouds cried from a revolt-spit sky.

Under the shadow of your soul, I salvaged my freedom struggle. 

I heard you cry, I heard you in pain, but, you held on.

Ah! What a confused world dawned for me.

Albeit, thank you, ma for your gift, life!

You are beautiful and you got married at eighteen.

You've always been ahead of your age enlightening our family.

Your wisdom is brighter and firmer than the bourgeoisie "morality".

As I was growing, you were, often, worried of my dissents.

You told me that I got this from a society in flames.

But, your compassion and relentless love make me who I am.

Thank you, ma for enduring me!

Many years have passed by; I haven’t seen you, ma!

I miss your exaggerated concerns as if I am still a child,

and your working hard from dawn to dusk to crown a smile;

Your stories of neighbors and others, filled with gossips.

I miss your mellifluous voice that, often, tunes me to a rainbow. 

Do the hues still curve over the promised land of Palestine? 
And, over the sighs of a million Somalia?

Now, I am afraid if I have become a machine running after; 

I wish I knew. 
Thank you, ma for bringing me up!

..........................................................................

মৰমৰ মা

নলবাৰীৰ জনপঠত অসম আন্দোলনৰ ধ্বনি,

“জয় আই অসম,

জয় আই অসম ৷”

ক’লা ডাৱৰৰ চিঞঁৰ আৰু

সদ্য পুতৃহীনা মাতৃৰ কান্দোনত একাকাৰ বতাহ ।

মোৰ স্বাধীনতাৰ যুদ্ব চলিছিল তোমাৰ গৰ্ভত ।

তোমাৰ ষ্পন্দনত আছিল আগ্নেয়গিৰিৰ লাভা ।

অৱশেষত গ্ৰীষ্মৰ এনিশা মই স্বাধীনতা ঘোঁষণা কৰিছিলো ।

মা, তুমি মোৰ জীৱনৰ বিদ্ৰোহী কবি ।

যৌৱন ঘাট নৌপাওতেই তোমাৰ বিয়া হল ।

তথাপি তোমাৰ জ্ঞানেই মোক দিশ প্ৰদৰ্শন কৰিলে-

বুৰ্জোৱা আধিপত্য আৰু সামন্তবাদী তেজপীয়াবোৰৰ বিৰুদ্ধে ৷

শৈশৱৰে পৰা মই আছিলো সংগ্ৰামী ফিৰিঙতি ৷

তুমি কৈছিলা,“তই আজিৰ সমাজৰ প্ৰতিধ্বনি,

এই আশীৰ্বাদ সাৱধানে ব্যৱহাৰ কৰিবি ।”

তুমিয়ে মোক মানুহ কৰিলা, মা ৷

ক’ত বেলি লহিয়ালে. ক’ত মাঘ বিহুৰ মেজি জ্বলিল,

কিন্তু মই অ’ত বছৰে তোমক দেখা নাই, মা ৷

তোমাৰ হাঁহি এচিকতা লাগি থকা

পাৰৰ মাংস আৰু জহা চাউলৰ ভাত খাবলৈ মন যায়,

আৰু মন যায় শইকীয়ানীহঁতৰ বদনাম শুনিব ৷

তুমিতো জানাই- মই কেৱল দৌৰিয়ে আছো ৷

আৰু পাহৰি গৈছো-

পেলেইষ্টাইনত ৰামধেনুৰ অৱসান;

ছোমালিয়াত দুৰ্ভীক্ষ শিশুৰ কৰাল লগা চকুলো ৷

মা, তোমাৰ পৰাই জীৱন শুনিম বাৰু ৷