Poems by Kamrul Islam

Poems by Kamrul Islam
Winter Evening
Your winter-coloured sari indicates that you’ll go
a long drive at the end of the night,
The persistent yellow of mustard field will appear
in the north sky …
Now the lamp of disappeared books and
furniture of your home does not fall asleep
under the canopy of agriculture…
We see nothing but some helpless bees
sitting at the end of the path with indivisible
management of trees…
A tale of a painting brush supersedes
the darkness of long-march for the sake
of blooming flowers of the next world…
Then the winds of the less-used street sing
the news of early morning
and our youth of feelings goes away
to the unending zone of winter evening…
My Love, a Swinging Paradox
I have first-hand belief that someday
you will get off from a new chocolate car
to touch my soul with your dewy delicate
hands of glistening love…
You may stay in the cozy ambience of
the hut I made with the reeds of my blood.
My love , a swinging paradox that
recites the crust of ice and shiny snows,
You’re ignorant of the fragrance of love,
The music of winds and the clouds
of eyes, where float the hungry souls,
How can you survey the deeper warmth
of my love and dreams
that eat up the pains of the wounded world…?
Sound Of Wonderful Breathing
Primal darkness plays in a serpentine cavern,
one and the same sound odor, restless lifespan,
the grave of eons, negation of the negation…
I hear the sound of wonderful breathing
in the distance,
and a glimpse of dawn with the prose of wind.
In the blood dripping from the uterus of night
I see a yard of agonies unfurled, chiseled
your morning’s gone and you wait for a ghost
brewing the fish-market’s brawling with new spells.
Like the house-son-in-law the sunrise,
our music becomes lonely,
I hear the sound of wonderful breathing,
are you coming in the dark?
In the body, by the side of death zone
the mating of the fish, embryonic harping,
walk quietly towards the restless sound,
see the sunset in ghost alleys.
In the blind waves of glycerin sea, a sacred lie,
the path is on the go,
a spectacular cargo carved on your cheeks,
can it resist tears sliding down and the elongation
of rhythmic dying of sunflowers ?
Some cowardly shades, heinous and devilish
shiver in the fogs with sinister eyes
crumble the secret palace in the gaps of our relation,
the wrath of slumbering lions melts away on my
feeble shoulder,
gossips of album turn pale…
I hear the sound of wonderful breathing
in the distance,
and a glimpse of dawn with the prose of wind…

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