January 22, 2018




by Shahinur Islam

Engraved are on these faces and eyes a slice of pity God’s age,

a scar of civilization gathering moss.

Like the leaves lying scattered on the roads

drawn are on these face maps the watermarks of deprivation,

an evolution profile blurted out in the prologue of a drama,

a secret story behind the burning sun

smudging in their skeletons as sunshine.

Like the cut off heads

lying are on these face fields the letters of dust.

Drenched is in these eyes one-quarter land of the earth

with three-quarters of their tear-loan.

Framed is in their pupils the silence of a mummy.

Staring sadly are these eyes in the ignoring darkness

like the day stars glowing unseen.

Yet for man’s misreading

these faces seem to be a coverless history book

of torn, scattered leaves,

the lowest points covered in the dust

 of the sky-high towers, pyramids and the Taj Mahal.

Copyright © 2017 by the poet

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