January 23, 2018

The Cry of Dove-hearts

poem

The Cry of Dove-hearts

by Shahinur Islam


Our dove-heart is extinct like paradise flycatchers

where lives now a sense of hybridity.

It is, as it were, the cultivation

of eucalyptus in the pitraj land.

Humanity is today a species

that comes to be endangered like magpie-robins

and is found only in pages of books

and painted as a picture here and there

or a coin of Goura, Pundra period

or else that of the Ashoka regime

lost forever or lain in ceaseless sleep

in some museum— so it bears no value

of its own except historical one.

Whether it’s humanity or dove-heart,

both now seem a pillarless asylum

of the invalid to power and money,

a pretension to the heavy monsoon

in the blistered land of the worthless mind.

Those who’re crushed in the sick race of the world

those who live in their huts in seclusion

those whose hearts are burdened with refined sense

those whose fathomless mind is a river

where endless streams of perturbed pains still flow,

stand as a shelter in their hearts alone

for them without any prop or support

like a single star gazing from afar,

like a statue without life or ideals.

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