The Poor Public Opinion Poem by Rahman Henry

Face on the ground— he fell in a ditch, the poor;

At the beginning, alternatively, in front of him
It was open: 350 highways;
But no one of them reaches the destination,
Goes straight to the cave where air-cooler inside.

He began waiting—
Reopened: 350 streets;
Still, no one is onto the populace,
Instead, running— towards unobstructed treasury!

In unbearable sufferings, the poor left behind
and waiting;

Ah! when again someone would open
350 more routes? which:
Through rice, jute and wheatfields,
Continues to run— towards the whole Bangladesh!