[03] Who 1 Poem by Ashraful Musaddeq

Did he want anything
Followed someone behind

Wanted some touch noiselessly
The pleasure of touching body with body
Did he wish to kiss secretly
Or only desired to set mind on mind

What he wanted then
He who rolling on the dust

Wanted amazing neglect
Not to play adultery lady-love
Wanted platonic moderate flower
Hate you dream— hate, hate that blunder

Who is still alive in the grave
Who wanted she died explicitly

Not the Orpheus-Eurydice
But why he wanted to win
Knowing unfair desired straight
Therefore he acquired nectar poison

Who have known life is complex
Let burn then from own fire

Is neglect not the nickname of hate
Left and right is oscillating on false flowers
Worthless cultivation with desire and dream
Kite flies in the sky not the swan

The sky-garden dress up with dark-tan flowers of disgust
Moneyless wealth less posterior undulating on the dirt
Abhorrence surging on the toe
One day realization came and announced

No one for none anymore— deep blue pique
The tail of audacity let be cut
Who can drink the grief of whom
Separate distinct life with dissimilar egoism

As if at last entered into Milky Way
Poet has put on the rings of grief
If the image does not sprouts from the zero calyx
Hate the poems declared in the day light