Some days,
my poems sit down cross-legged,
like monks on a slab of stone,
and tell me I should meditate
because I lack sense.
And so, I jump into the spaces
between the words,
sometimes, between the lines
to see if there's depth.
And then, I fold the limbs of my poems
to let the words perform
a little warm up exercise,
like a foot stretch or a meter run
to see if they're fit
enough to fit my shit.
Oops, I mean fit
enough to sit onto a sheet,
like this uncouth jimble-jamble
flashing its teeth
right here at you, at me.
If it all gets a big weird mess in the end,
I just toss them into a bin,
right where this is headed.

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গালাগালি দিলেই কেউ খারাপ হয়না।
মানুষতো কলাও খায়, তাই বলে কি সে বাঁদর !?

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