Nilabja Chakrabarti


Prabir Roy

Born in 1952, Roy, an electrical engineer by profession, became a permanent resident of Jalpaiguri by choice and by love. Address – Shyamalchhaya, Ukilpara, Jalpaiguri. He was associated with “Sanhato kabita” (compact poetry) movement. Prabir Roy’s first book “Magic LanThon” (Magic Lantern) was published in 1980. Roy was involved with “Erka” and “Ekhon” magazines. He is always a great guide, mentor and friend of young poets. Almost 20 books of Roy got published till now. In 2013, his “Poetry Collection-1” was published from ‘ekhon – bangla kabitar kagoj’ (Now – Bengali poetry magazine). Still very energetic Roy is thoroughly involved with the e-magazine “jolpo” these days.

This is our pleasure to present some of his poems in English for the first time.




My parents took birth in India
I took birth in India
Still their motherland is not mine


East has got no West
West has got no East
I’m broken in search of directions



I’m not intoxicated that doesn’t mean I’m not intoxicated

I’m not a terrorist that doesn’t mean I’m not a terrorist

I’m not a fundamentalist that doesn’t mean I’m not a fundamentalist

I’m not a compromiser that doesn’t mean I’m not a compromiser

I’m not a bohemian that doesn’t mean I’m not a bohemian

I’m not alone that doesn’t mean I’m not alone



Everything is being repeated
You stood beside my bed and asked
How are you

Avoiding the context
The pictures remain as they were



01 There was a boy called Atanu …              01
02 There was a father called Atanu …           30
03 There was a grandfather called Atanu …    60
04 There was a photograph called Atanu …    80
05 There was nobody called Atanu …           100



The path to music school from our home was three-folded
Still we were used to reach there thru’ a straight line
This was our geometry

I teach geometry to my son these days
How an angle to be bifurcated

I find him in a pure addiction
Taking the compass up
He says, this is east, this is west
This is called an adjacent angle.



The insult can’t be written with the vowels and consonants
We learn language with the new letters
This alphabet has given us skinless sound
Rubbed-happiness throughout the pages

Please don’t call it art
Please don’t call it poetry



The lost lines of poems are waiting



Since the words given by you were colourless
I’m still waiting



Whenever the music stops I start returning to you


Two lost hands are searching something somewhere



Translated From Bangla by Nilabja Chakrabarti

Facebook Comments

Related posts

3 Thoughts to “POEMS OF PRABIR ROY”

  1. Hiya Mukherjee

    চমৎকার অনুবাদ! দুর্দান্ত!

    1. Sanghamitra Halder

      অনেক ধন্যবাদ আপনাকে।

    2. নীলাব্জ চক্রবর্তী

      পাঠ ও মন্তব্যের জন্য অনেক ধন্যবাদ হিয়া… ভাল থাকবেন…

Leave a Comment