Dynamic Frustration Poem by Zillur Rahman Shuvro

When the half of the world sleep, another portion wake up
For this frustration night comes again and again
When the half of the world wake up, another portion sleep
For this frustration day comes again and again.
Nobody is dyed-in-the-wool free from frustration
Behind the frustration, frustration has a dynamic mission.
From fallen leaves to melancholy stars none can escape
From its vigorous kiss and even old home is not safe.
It is like sigh to a clerk and burning heart to a tom boy
Dominated by boss and husband; both have lost freedom and joy.
It's like hornet to widow and like bothersome burden to middle class
It's grey sorrow to glaucoma eyed man who uses magnifying glass.
It's garland of pain to the wounded warrior and to the lame man
It's like sandy past to the popularity less hero and ballyhoo less fan.
It's like scorched earth cry to the terracotta of abandoned temple
And it is like ab-ra-ca-dabra to a fascist and his starkly mad people.
Yes! Yes! Yet the frustration is the off-spring of provoking hope
That is on the driving-seat and touched by the holy hand of Pope.