What do I write
Do I write Supremo’s tedious acts to men
Do I write their misfortune of being devoted to him
Do I narrate tug of War in between of brothers for hoax democracy
Do I write a state’s melancholy who is being sandwiched by trespassers
What do I write
Do I write a tale of untold sliver lining clouds
Do I write few verses of a flower that springs from gutter
Do I write her lecherous beauty that sucks many eyes
Do I write a poem of hungry serpent slithering on the highway
Do I write a baby’s shattered dream who is basking by the tomb of his father that sent away from overseas
What do I write
Do I write a mystical journey of predators
Do I write celibacy life of Gurus with maiden
For all what the seeds that they do drop
Will wisely return as per karma’s future crop
So, what do I write
To those one whose game of thrones has seized by self
Or That what you are seeking from others that is your own graveyard
For all everything happens at its own pace
When you eventually cease for nothing you get perfect joy and peace!
Do I write to celebrate life while you have it that you found
Or still waits till it turns to be ripen fruit falls to the ground!?!
Refugee
Every year after year, I migrate as a migratory bird for the last destination
The destination of map is divided by the whole emperor
My living is become as curse
That often barters with substantial purse
Within existing of zillions body I always remain as alien
Seasons after seasons, duly many insulted my body
Without any sensible reasons I am being averse
When I wished to belong to the whole universe
Day by day, I am being swept away by a conflict and violence
That driven out to be summoned in temple and old place
Where God even cast a shadow of ghost
And treats me as a conviction and criminal
I travelled thousand miles and miles crumbling through terrain
Where dunes appear as green mirage of valleys
I sail throughout sea waves drowning dear ones
I have nothing but little attire to hide my gender
Everybody laughs wherever I roam to protect identity
Sometimes I become Rahina of Barma
Sometimes I become Kurdish of Iraq
Sometimes I become monks of Tibet
Mostly I become a victim of nuclear debate
which put much stake on my sentiments of breathing
that starve to death with terror feelings
When I was living in a beauty of small hamlet
The landscape of hills and rivers covered by lethal war
My harmonious family and identity has been buried within it
that drags me to seek a host of companionship
and I flee with hungry breathing
striving with burden of death
as being a refugee within zillion of bodies
I travel from eastern to western valley
For seeking a good nap and breadcrumb throughout dead alleys.
She was left as orphan
And remained as abandoned trash in the nook of street
Who was unknown of her father
Nor she had seen face of her mother
She didn't know where was her abode
And from where she came to nearby an oak tree
As days passed, often fighting with astra dogs for living
Sometimes, being playful with gnats and frogs
under the shade of a tree
She rejoiced her loneliness within crowded faces
One-day, when her tender hands being taken
The tree's leaves flutter to seek her for seasons
The dogs get mourned for days
Birds forgot to sing from the branch of old tree
None have seen where she is been
After years, the same street named as 'Red Light Street
Where like her, many nestlings are being caged!!
Short bio of poet
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