Peoms of Shimul Zaman

  something settled behind these awkward brown eye I am awake in my  dearest sleep I call all my  heroes and heroines  they tell me  stories of chains and grieves but I feel the dance  I hear the song; so I grab the moon and  let the sun go to get a cup of water and  pour  on  their bruising  souls

in the midst of piled dishes unfolded sarees and books on clod wooden floor the river birch  finds  me ... i pause and  i stop like a stray finding the shade ... i let the birch gaze inward i take her sun i touch her rain i find my way right out of her silver body trapped in time in love  and in treason

  After a rather long struggle with death she surrendered. She died. Ceremony was short and somber. She was buried at her chosen corner next to a cedar tree that she planted on her thirty first birthday. There is a leaning a tree over the river where she canoed and kayaked every summer. She never fished. She hated the thought of pulling a living fish off its playground; to her, it was tyranny to the naught. He is sad. He stood there under the evergreen cedar until the sun is lost in the eventide. He hold the hand of his thirteen year old daughter. He pressed her left hand in gentle assurance. Daughter and father walked into waiting car. Daughter muttered Her eyes welled up. There was silence. Family friends and neighbors have all left. The emptiness is overwhelming. They felt reduced to nothingness. They meandered endlessly on the rooftop. They came down to bedroom and stared into emptiness. Her picture on the wall is oriented a little crooked. They fixed it with care. They closed eyes