you spend what you make to make what you spend, and you do it today to do it all over again
her heart was a two seater unfit for a family so big i grew to be a woman mirrored in her shadow when she was younger
Over the last 30 years, he has received multiple national and international literary awards for his work. He is, currently, the vice-president of PEN International, Bangladesh chapter.
The fact of the matter was this: the poem had been written, the call had been answered, and as lofty as it sounds—at that moment there I was, as Frank O'Hara put aptly—"the center of all beauty! / writing these poems!/ Imagine!".
Like wild leopard's skin, I spread out my hair The dark night uncurls with his roaring fleet; I pounce on his chest, bare foot, like Kali–
Memory is a winding range Of coniferous mountain pine Catching the fiery light
We grasp on and we hold tight.
try my best to paint the place blue Pouring all the sorrow after you With no colour left in my palette, As though the canvas breathes its last
Spirit breaks at home along with love mingled with innocence.
her heart was a two seater unfit for a family so big i grew to be a woman mirrored in her shadow when she was younger
you spend what you make to make what you spend, and you do it today to do it all over again
Over the last 30 years, he has received multiple national and international literary awards for his work. He is, currently, the vice-president of PEN International, Bangladesh chapter.
Like wild leopard's skin, I spread out my hair The dark night uncurls with his roaring fleet; I pounce on his chest, bare foot, like Kali–
The fact of the matter was this: the poem had been written, the call had been answered, and as lofty as it sounds—at that moment there I was, as Frank O'Hara put aptly—"the center of all beauty! / writing these poems!/ Imagine!".
Memory is a winding range Of coniferous mountain pine Catching the fiery light
We grasp on and we hold tight.
try my best to paint the place blue Pouring all the sorrow after you With no colour left in my palette, As though the canvas breathes its last
Spirit breaks at home along with love mingled with innocence.
Dissipated, my thoughts wander finally taking refuge in sleep.