In this bared land of the fertile alphabets
You didn't spread out the mat of poetry

Thousands crore of years I rowed the oar of your spring
No smiling flower bloomed there in the desired tree

Lost, I lost the parlours of the Sirius due to chasing your winks
No ink of the rose day I sipped to inscribe a couplet of the ivy

Now I'm running away from the fist of the empirical uterus
Where you were my poem but the destitution is irony!

©Mahtab Bangalee
February 13,2024
Chattogram