Transformation
Hamid Rayhan
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Shout By Hamid Rayhan
For Charlse Roy and Zafar Ahammad
Like in Mother-womb I grew up, I hid behind her
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Fly by Hamid Rayhan
For my friend Marylee Macdonald, fiction writer
While you submerge, the mild of Bengal flickered
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Fall
By Hamid Rayhan
There is a sunbaked silence. The bled plant in the open pace blows up its branches, sun combs in the suspended gondola, and stands like a poacher crayfish itself to the wall every long afternoon.
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