// The Deconstruction // Poem by baki nasrullah

The Deconstruction

Alas! I'm undone.
What a great injustice, to mother
Pernicious things done, to my mother,
Oh god! there is no trace.
How odd! !
I can't recognize my ever known,
Mother, ever green, Bangladesh.
My blood bathed, tortured like my millions of sisters,
My Very very dear, my breath.
Bangladesh my Bangladesh..

Change is a must.
A positive change,
Concuss change, a situation after the storm,
Nothing can be identified,
Face, eyes, and blood
But I identified my mother, Bangladesh.
Going to be changed.
The fertile soil turns in to a desert with expectations of others.
Nothing left undone to cut into pieces. I'm crying with pang.
Something to be done with a maker, seriously serious,
Can not Pamper unauthorized, horrendous, rotten happening
Anymore.
Time demands extra ordinary,
To be changed, to change,
As I can't be separated from my blood and time
I must be working
I've started my working……….!


Asu-010109 rewrite July31,2009