Wingless Fowl

Wingless Fowl Poems

Wingless Fowl Biography

He was born at a place called Silchar in Assam to Makaddas Ali and Monmila Khatun as the youngest son of their family. Fowl's family was originally from a village called Masimpur. He has been teaching in a number of schools in Silchar as an assistant English teacher and been known for his excellency over 15 to 18 years peer group. Fowl is a graduate in English literature. He is presently doing his two master degrees; one in Indian Literature and the other in Western Literature, also learning French from a university. He has done his matriculation from a rural Bengali medium school in 2009. After that, he did his Higher Secondary from a College at Badarpur in 2011. Fowl graduated in the year 2014 and pursued his B.Ed in teaching English and History. Fowl is currently busy doing a 'Teacher's Research' under a University on 'Developing Composition Skills in Rural Area Students'. As a student of literature, Fowl has driven into writing and thinking himself an amateur in writing poetry. Fowl reads his poems in his place in front of happy spectators and he has been till today well appreciated and boasted. WELCOME TO HIS LIFE! Note: Leave your valuable suggestions as comments on his posts for his and everyone's betterment.)

The Best Poem Of Wingless Fowl

Funeral

They were mewling at the veranda of their house.
Clasping relatives, regretting the dead.
I stood there by a sapling, muddled.
Sobbing menage everywhere.

My peepers were thriving antsy, ubiquitous.
Poised to a casement, she was found.
Her face flushed jitteriness.
She mourned intermittently,
Clutching my mother.

They incensed the deceased after a bath,
And placed the body on a bier.
Four of the households,
Hearsing towards the grave.

Women outcried indoors, a melancholy.
She implored not to fortake the dead.
I sensed a throe in her voice.
They stood halting her rage.

Men in a queue wearing sacred hats,
All in white, upright; stirred hands.
An old man dispersed incense on all.
Four men, again, carried the bier.

Two men in the sepulcher,
Two on the bank of it, lying the dead.
I saw bamboo planks placed over it.
They ungrasped soil from their fist.

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