For a long three month
There was preparation
And I knew
The day would never come.
It was one Friday, however,
And the day was damp a bit-
My idle pillow loved me long
With all her slumberous fen,
There was no bitter ray even
From the eastern sky
To vex my morning heaven.
Suddenly the Sermon echoes
And my heaven had a break
Because of his resonance
With the sound of hello box,
And I pressed green.
Good morning, who is that,
Talk or release the phone, and so on-
Babbling!
“I am at Foy’s Lake”, she replied-
Crumbling and crying.
Having had that screaming cry
My heart stopped beating my blood
Like what a Faustus externalized
While signing Lucifer’s bond.
And a Mephistopheles,
With Satanic impulse
Offered me a cinematic shift
From ‘Kuddus Lodge’ to
Cox’s Bazar.
And the next word came to my tongue-
“Sorry”.
The very dear voice then disappeared
With no languorous stay
It never comes to me
Even in my bullying pray.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem