Poem – 1

The Recession

Sublime absenteeism, you dig my hunger

Perfidious presence, you precede my end,

The paucity of information, or its overabundance

Drowns me in the sea of irrelevance.

The cruelty of deficit leaves me thirsty and insatiable,

While ennui fills with unreason the bumps and cracks

Atop my brittle porcelain vessel of a body.

The feeling of inadequacy is bourgeoned tenfold,

As the Joy I felt every night dreaming of utopias

Got replaced by sleep apnea and hollow jaunts.

Lack calls for lack, and like an endless road,

It stretches far and wide, confiscating your ability

To love and be loved; to give unconditionally

Leaving you the imprint of resounding loneliness.

Today, even a flamboyant profusion of fragrant flowers

Fails to deliver me from brewing in silent melancholy…

 Poem – 2

Bilash / Luxury

They are caught in the middle of a blaze:

Frigid zones, though worse, they chase…

The infernal rays from the incriminate sun

Pierces the skin like bullets from a gun.

Sense of suffocation, malaise exacerbated

Land full of resources, they leave, the ill-fated.

They criticize and grumble, wail and groan,

Never ‘up’ do they go while working to the bone.

They wait for December, its hierarchical freshness

All the while dreaming of rain baths and dampness.

Days whir by with false weather conjectures

Heavy is the air with dust and Islamic lectures…

‘He’ aspires to rule it while hoarding their pity,

To sprinkle with coal the tracks of Dhaka city…

Cityscapes shall grow out of death and debris

Must shall they envy, the ones who chose to flee.

His plans for Unnayan 1 require time and labor

Deliver they must despite the unbecoming weather.

Sore hands with open wounds; their cries, inaudible

Enfolded Empathy! His efforts must seem credible.

In the gray heat of August, the contours, blurred

Gas prices so high, their helms get grimly charred.

Nourishment is a luxury none of them can afford

The plight for affordability is nationally ignored.

The Bangus 2 are truly insatiable people;

Do they own the place? Or are they merely His sheeple?

Always dissatisfied, like spoiled little children…

Demanding He’ll notice them and make them his brethren.

Shame that they only seek approval from his Highness

No one gets how hard it is to bestow them with kindness.

He plunges his fork into the medium grilled udders

“It’s all for the greater good…”, he calmly mutters.