Cring…cring…cring…
I was floating like a foam in my dream!
The cracking sound of the alarm bell severely jostled out
The layers of my subconscious being
And I woke up from the yoke of my trimmed up dream!
Still an hour in hand –
right time-shelf for my preparation for the day
It is a day to perform; a day to keep on
A day to talk about Shakespeare and Milton
A day to think about them and us
A day to shake my dream
And rise from its soothing grasp
A day to prepare again for the same

We have got thousand miles of green
We have got the long held pedagogy of staying clean
We have got hoards of public--talkers
We have got huge number of politicians
We have got good bunch of foreign friends
We have got oceans of dreams
We have got grapevine and smokes
We have got flocks of pundits to govern our dreams' fumes

A night of sheer excitement and fear forlorn
And to march ahead with the dreams newly born
We live in a harmony of peace, tolerance and resilience
We have thousands of brilliant mosques, temples and shrines

When I look around in mere numbness of nothingness
And send her a text message that I need a huge massage
For years, long 37 years of dizziness and whims
Bones got fused to crumbling the naughty-knots

\No, I do not think I am going to die soon
Though I hear roars of groans and moans around
Docs say: these are required for a moral boost
Though I can't afford to go by the prescriptions
I take up the mask that I use
Every moment except the death I meet in the night
I roar; I moan

I sing and that I dance
Dance like a zoo-ring incarnate
In the quiet desperation of the luxury of my romance

Promises and hopes are annexed …

I play my favourite tune at my Spanish guitar
I drop it and take the do-tara
That she bought from Boishakhi Mela
This afternoon
I hear a distant whistle crooning in the head
Das met his death on some such day
On this track
I decide to take a little break

Things are not
As they are supposed to be:
A ragged rat caught a cat
She keeps on getting fat

I get out of the dome of knowledge
My stomach signals red
I waver between a taxi and a bus ride
I want to make a quick hide
I soon find myself marooned
in the series of multifarious jams
Vomiting inside red
How do they think that
They can propel up the floating boat
Without a good, efficient and caring Head?

In the invisible wakes of waves
Too gullible to comprehend
I desperately try to hide my thoughts
Soaring unendingly higher, higher and even higher
I get up on a free rickshaw
That promises some free breaths

Things are not
As they are supposed to be:
A ragged rat caught a cat
She keeps on getting fat

Crows are seldom seen on the electric wires these days
I however had seen one
once
And she had dropped some of her sacraments on my head.
I keep crawling ahead … with new hopes flickering --
In the quagemire of hopes and aspiratiomns
in twisted desperations...