A courier boy came by plane.
A knock on my door
and a parcel in his hand.
Wrapped in red, it read
my neighbour's name.
His cold eyes and a tear on mine,
and the price is paid
in cumulative currency of
his helpless puppet hands,
my neighbour's bleeding tongue
and my ceased beats.
— % &

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ফুলের সুশ্রী সুবাসে সম্পর্ক সাজাও,
বলো না তো কোথাও মালির নাম;
সর্ষে ইলিশ চেটে খাও
তবু ছোঁওনা তো কখনো
তার কারিগরের দুঃখে ভেজা ত্বক।

বাতির আলোয় বোনো সহস্র কাহিনীর রহস্য,
কিন্তু বোনোনি তো কোনোদিনও
সেই কালি মাখা আলো দাতার গল্প।
বসন্তের রঙে রাঙিয়ে তলো
নিজেকে সকল বস্ত্র দ্বারা,
তবু সেই দুটি হাতের সুতোর রেখার
রাখো না কোনো রেখা।

যতই থাকুক পয়সার ঢেলা,
যতই থাকুক পুঁথির ফাঁকা গর্ব,
জীবনবৃক্ষে কে দেবে জল এরা ছাড়া?
তবুও ক্ষণিক বাষ্পে ভুলে যাও এদের,
অমর করো না এদের ছাপ কোনো গদ্যে,
কিন্তু রেখো মনে একটাই কথা,
যদি না দেয় এরা ইতিহাসের পাতা,
থাকবে নাকো মানবতার আত্মকথা।— % &

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The radio plays my childhood~— % &

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If only the sun could buy
a slice of time from the tide,
it could've made
some more candy flosses
for infinite stomachs of the sky
and of those under its
unshaded roof.

If only the sun could buy
some craters from the moon,
it could show how imperfections
aren't synonyms with dark.

But, alas! Its pocket is empty,
just like people's brain and heart. — % &

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Media quacks and paper headlines,
tongue sips words of half baked truth
and spills 'em out, hot enough
to burn all skins in swears of gods.

Rahaman - Rahul fights!
Sheets get stained
in names of Hindu-Muslim,
not in theirs who tainted red
on statue of humanity.
"Shame on those beards
and shame on the verses of Quran;
shame on those ponytails
and shame on those hymns of Gita.",
that's what the country shouts,
mimicking the speakers renowned.

But, dear, bullet holes know no religion,
broken limbs know no gods,
they only speak of raped humanity
and ripen disgust, of one against one,
not against the religion, that they ne'er had.
— % &

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~ If only I knew before
what metaphysics meant.— % &

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I heard the rj say
that life's all 'bout love,
but I don't know where it's kept,
in places or in persons.

Cleared the shelves of all novels
that carried the names of my crushes,
turned all of the pages of my sketch books
and drawings I made with crayons.

I searched in Ed's songs
and Taylor's long verses,
I searched it in mom's abstracts
and daddy's ol' diaries,
searched it in gran's sweaters
and in pickle jars,
but found it nowhere near
or far where birds flew.

Only if I knew it'd be in the word
this poem began with. — % &

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— % &

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I flew paper planes in rain
and you sailed papar boats on dry plain.
~ even right things done wrongly,
changed our whole game.— % &

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