May 22, 2013 | 08:48 AM (BD Time)
22 May, 2013 Wednesday
My image on a dissimulating mirror
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.
M. Mizanur Rahman
I am talking to the stone.
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.
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.
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