Letter From A Poet Poem by Abul Kayyum

I could not be that murmuring stream,
Nor the budded rose at lawn.
I could not be that green power of grass
Nor even bowing night-flowers
at smiling dawn.
Dear friend, I, that boy, fled from poetry class,
Nor even be a sheave of green grass.

I, that trash
Fled from poetry class,
Was on endless tour
By opening the mirror of my core
At the sandy shore.
And drunk the heartful of green
While chasing grass-hoppers with the paddy queen.
My love and hopes sang in swelling tone
If I would be the Meghna River to the bone
Or if I be the blue sky of Spring Dawn
Or at least a cool drop of rain
Falling on my holly plain
Or a flying petal raced by a passing train.

But my friend I, that boy, am now banned
By age’s dark and reality’s bark.
I am now a poet for my land,
Who is, to the consumers, an ever-glowing spark.