Poems by Kamrul Islam
THE MAGIC OF WEEDS
Alone, apart and alienated, a maestro sings the
Invisible flight of a bird bleeding in his mind.
Living in the house of a sullen shadow, sculpted,
broken and trodden always, waiting for a flying
feather on the divine smiles of wild flowers,
a recluse, spending eons without caress and cares,
the elixir of life .
Alone on the amber pains, edge of myth,
surrounded by gray hymns, moving spite and
strenuous wraths squeezing the sleeps,
poetic beeps unrest on monkish salmon’s eyes
In the water of rocks and algae.
His beloved resides in the burning tail of
white clouds haunted by the ghost of a miser,
the honesty of her kisses sways on the soft
creepers of unknown herbs in the windy hedge.
He sees the platonic shoes in heraldic
sorrows of psychedelic noon on euphoric wings,
his muse that swims in the plumes of serenade
cannot master the art of wearing love’s attire.
The magic of weeds sleeps in his dreams, reflects
The bird and its flight far and far away from him.
Songs of Broken Clouds
I cannot recollect now
how once you translated my life into death
and death into rains and rains into tears
I hear the gossips of shiny crowds
within the invisible incorrigible
layers of wrongs that play lamenting
the old deaths still alive and progressive
I cannot but touch the vertical lines
of non-stop vacation that makes me hear the tale
of fish-ache-waves of reddish soul
the uranium jokes flying over the toxic mirror
I do respect the emotions of trees
the tears of flowers
I learn from the songs of broken clouds swimming
and singing in the bloods of ravishing simile of rains