Breaking News:

Poem

.
My image on a dissimulating mirror

Al Mahmud

I shoo it away many times; but it returns
with great precision of a clock's ticking hand
Its face transforms into a curved looking-glass
I observe my fickle images passing on that moment-mirror. 

On that awe-inspiring ghostly mirror
I seem to be a beast. Beastly mane
flutters in dusty gust, immoral worldly clay
ruins plants, women, children, people and city.

Whenever its cruel paw is up
I see its arrogant ferocious eyes
shade flame putting its eyes on me;
leaks my chin, overcoming that blind anger
I reach to realise that my soul itself is the abode
of dispute between baby and beast.

No

M. Mizanur Rahman

I am talking to the stone.
It echoes.
It does not give me relief.
Who am I to bemoan?

I am surrounded with foes.
I am to struggle deep.
I fight hunger.
I fight disease.
I fight social ills.
And all these
saddened my stony hills.

I talked to them there.
They echo. 'hunger'.
I say. 'No'.
They echo. 'disease'.
I do not compromise.
They echo.
'Social ill'.
I repeat. I must kill that.
I must kill.

I must break the stone.
I must not keep the bone.
And it will never echo.
Hunger.
Disease.
Social ill.
No.