Jobair Mahmud

Jobair Mahmud Poems

Were I a painter
I am sure
My signature theme would be
The title of this poem.
...

It's sunset time, all the birds came
Back their nest quietly
A quell's fiancée not back yet now
He forwarded everywhere seem to
...

Jobair Mahmud Biography

Jobair Mahmud, a Bangladeshi poet & writer in special English Literature & entrepreneur, is known as a brave, organizational, and social young entrepreneur. He was born on October 10,1999, in Teknaf, a bordering Upazila of Cox's Bazar district, the world's largest beach town in Bangladesh. In addition to studying for a bachelor's degree in English at the National University, he joined the work of humanity as a volunteer. He is a youth-friendly, women-friendly, entrepreneur-friendly, and research-friendly person who is playing a role in various groundbreaking changes in society, the state, and the world through various alliances and networks. Basically, this young entrepreneur is a social worker, youth leader, and volunteer expert, in a word, we call him comrade. He has the opportunity to work professionally to acquire and realize humanitarian work and practical knowledge at the field level. Various national and international organizations such as World Health Organization (WHO) , World Vision, BRAC, CODEC, etc. are located in Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh. In order to make this work more sustainable and expeditious, he set up a humanitarian service called " Humanitarian Enhancement Aid for Resilient Transformation-HEART " . HEART is known as Bangladesh for short. As an entrepreneur and founder of an organization, his network is recognized internationally. For this, he has received various medals such as SDG Hero, Best Cadet, Skilled Organizer, Youth Fellow, and other due honors and awards.)

The Best Poem Of Jobair Mahmud

Ode On Poor Man

Were I a painter
I am sure
My signature theme would be
The title of this poem.
The sun races to the zenith,
Imperious as an oriental autocrat.
The poor man crouches
In imitation Tommy Hilfiger rags
In the dwindling shade
Of a denuded tree.

His hands cradle
A bowl of fired earth-
It could be an Ouija board
To conjure up goodies,
Courtesy of the weak of conscience.

And when they come,
How he falls to it!
Eyes focused in mystic concentration,
Left arm protectively around
The pile of comestibles,
As right hand shovels them
Into an eager mouth.

I would paint the scene
Over and over
In luscious oil:
The painted proliferation
Might work magic,
Converting seeming impossibility
Into palpable reality:

All the world's poor
Men and women
Gathered as if on the mythic day
Of final reckoning,
On this lowly earth,
Devouring earthly fare:
O the gods would come down
To bless and share!

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