Life is a battlefield. Every living species fights a different battle; therefore, I can only talk about mine.

When I look back to find the definitive moment when my writing habits took root, I can’t find it. It is a distant vanishing point from which everything radiated, or maybe there was not a single point or node from where it all began.

Twenty-eight years ago, on an overcast day, an astrologer, sitting at the porch of our ramshackle house, had predicted that my mother would never give birth to a male child.

Inscribe my name, beloved, With care and affection In the temple of your secluded heart.   Trace the beat of the music That plays in my soul In the anklets on your feet.

Our boat was docked by a sandbank on the other side of Shelaidaha. It was a gigantic strip of sand where the contour of a river could be seen.

Born in 1861, Rabindranath was brought up in a large family with an open, eclectic approach to culture, religion and the world of ideas. This receptivity to heterogeneous influences remained with him throughout his life, expressing itself in his thought, writings and practices

I am one of the privileged few to have experienced Dhaka University—the nation’s citadel of higher education le plus excellent—from both sides of the spectrum, first as a student and then as an academic.

Men wearing wreaths uphold their sacred emblem - They extend an olive branch. Hold round-table talks on their next daring conquest. Fill banks with our blood. Build forts of crisp notes. Offer helpless smiles to victims of wars that they sell. They empty the bowels of our earth for oil, tie a string from end to end

The forest was still in the early hours of a cold autumn morning. The silence was broken only by the breeze through the trees and the restless trickling of a stream running through the middle of a clearing.

The intriguing image of a woman’s eye peering through a hole cut into the glossy book jacket suggests that there is more to Saikat Majumdar’s The Middle Finger than meets the eye.

Writer, statesman and educationalist Humayun Kabir (1906-69) was born in Komarpur near Faridpur town. The childhood of this cosmopolitan intellectual was spent in a rural culture.

now i see you in summer the kind  that came, before rain  could  settle us April, the beginning of it -

“Today it seems to me that every festival in Santiniketan offered homage to the seasons in some form or other… Much later I learnt that the festivals of Santhals and other Adivasis are the expressions of respect for farming and forest life. There are forms of nature worship based on an advantage of the earth as a primal mother.”

The Baishakhi fairgrounds is just a stone’s throw away from the Doyagonj Bridge, where grandpa always takes Rony for afternoon walks.

My city has turned off all its lights. And then someone has muddied, all the road-marks and signs.

Kabuliwala and Other Stories is a collection of twelve outstanding stories of Rabindranath Tagore, translated into English by Prof Shawkat Hussain, a former professor of the Department of English, University of Dhaka.

Etched a figurine, taking dots and lines and curves Xeroxed our desires weaving through the blurs

The very day in bless’d disarray, this is no time to stay in place. As begging kids and homeless dogs flee the chasing skies above,

This past March, Sahitya Akademi and Foundation of SAARC Writers and Literature (FOSWAL) arranged an online Literature Conference on “Environment and Literature” with participation from Bangladesh, Bhutan, India, Myanmar, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Thailand.

It was not very late when he saw her inside the cafe.