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Soliloquy of My Soul, Poetry by Ujjol Kamal

This collection of poetry, my 11th book, I dedicate to my one and only kind, gracious, beautiful sister, Nargish Jahan Hena. A woman, a wife, a mother, a sister, a daughter, an embodiment of sanctity, kindness, and purity.

 Soliloquy of My Soul
Soliloquy of My Soul
PRLog - Aug. 16, 2012 - Dear Apa (older sister) every time I see you, I lose myself in your warm welcome embrace, and your kind words are like prayer that act as solace to our restless hearts.

I hope you live forever, and bring peace and bliss to this war-torn, worry-worn, wayward World of ours.

Love you more than I can ever express.

Your humble brother,

Ujjol Kamal

Kumar Kamal  is a poet of Bangladeshi origin, preferring to write under the pen name of Ujjol Kamal. The word Ujjol in Bengali means bright. Born in Dhaka, Bangladesh, he emigrated to the US in 1997 where he is presently a resident of New Jersey.

Ujjol traces his poetry roots to his fifth grade, developing into a fully fledged poet while being exposed to the compounded influence of the 18th Century English Poets, the Metaphysical Poets, the Romanticists, and the works of Donne, Blake, Milton, Shakespeare, Tagore, Nazrul... to name just a few literary great minds of our times.

In his own words: “Writing poetry comes naturally to me. I love to write deep, dark, lyrical, esoteric poems. I try seeing the World beyond the veils of veiled love, lust, desire. All manners of human suffering affect me gravely and sadly. Poetry is the art of love, death, and life. I hope you enjoy the hue, the aura of beauty that lies deeply imbued in each one of the words of my poems.”


Soliloquy Of My Soul

Soliloquy of my soul
Breezy breeze blows in rain
Silent shadow sheds shade of pain

Soliloquy of my soul
I do not know what to look for

I do not pray
Nor do I play

I think I’m not real

I’m just a mere maze thrown out even in the greater maze

The brain is a very complex place
Cells and neurons fire up the graying grey

The boundary of reality is not real
Living in a prison of air, water, flame

The prisoner is incarcerated in a fate-faith-filled-cell till the death gets hold of the play
And then once more I shall become a prisoner with no name

Soliloquy of my soul
I turn in in my own womb

Some they bury
Some they cremate
Some they still make stagnant

Is this a real place
Is reality not real



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