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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Mekhela chador
I was too hurry and overwhelmed
To embrace the attire
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...
The days in kindergarten,
I cherish the attire, in her wardrobe enhanced and ironed
The dining hours,
I often queried her, to own the attire
And in festive tyrant,
She dressed herself in the silken weaving attire
The onset of puberty;
My body and soul celebrated draping of the attire
From my breast to my waist to my ankle
For the first time, I engulfed the feeling of being a woman (and beautiful)
All coyness and tenderness are ornate as my fragrance
The attire was made of silk in creamy white and cherry thread
Like droplets of cherry-red blood unfurling the snowy linen
And the ears heard joyously whispering me
"mur maa rr mekhela chador" ( - "my mater's Indigenous Traditional Assamese Dress")...
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Love
I love you
I love you the way you live me
I live you the way you made it
That's why I say
I can't leave you...
Dreams are mine
Dreams are yours
All in one
We are both each other's bond
That's why I say
I can't leave you...
Hey we give a baby girl
Little she is like me
More she owns you
It is a family
That's why I say
I can't leave you
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Benumbed Jane!
"he'd never give a plain Jane like you a second's thought"
(but hellishly reign his godly wife)
O Jane!
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
Crucify your benumbed senses
Resurrect your eloquent vehement
Why she choose to be the godly wife?
Why he choose to be the beastful husband?
Let's not brawl and yawp
Let's not cuddlerape and strangled with a scarf
In unwieldy guilts and sins of the battlefields of the Great Marriage
Give up now
Or
Surrender to salvation
You are not owing to “Beauty and the Beast” - A French Fairy Tale
Time has no time
Be little prettier
Be more wiser
O Jane!
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
I can't stop thinking about you
Do you think?
I think for you only when I talk to you or chat.
I do think for you more after I leave you from chat or talk.
Do you think?
I see you at times only when we hang out for coffees.
I see you over and over again in the shadows I cross.
Do you think?
I am busy buzzing only around with chores.
I am busy conquering the whole world to bestow you.
Do you think?
I say I love you only because a lover chanted.
I do say I love you much because I live you more till I breathe last.
Baby! I just can't stop thinking about you...
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
What if..
What if; it wasn't a lockdown forenoon
Mommies whisking to kitchenette
Daddy's out with newspaper headlines
Little cubs denned in their late quilt and wishing no schooling today
Rest world racing themselves to indulge in work deadlines
What if; it wasn't a lockdown noon
Chefs busy preparing victuals to serve in eateries
Office canteens loaded with lunch boxes and gossips
Some heading for evening tales
What if; it wasn't a lockdown evening
Coffee shops buzzing with bud pairs, roasted coffee beans and whiffs of smoke
Peeps roaming and returning their abodes before the dark was deep
Little cubs falling asleep in their study and no Surf, no Netflix
What if; it wasn't a lockdown night
Dinner table would filled with traffic and homework folklore
Bedtime would doubly the fairy's list-
Children wishing for no school tomorrow,
Men for hike up his business,
Women emancipation from irons of household chores and society norms
What if; it wasn't a lockdown
Contemporary would have been so lost in it's own bloods and veins
June month would have brought us fruity summer of 2020
And I would have written a poetry of love and lust
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Her sojourn in the wild
Her sojourn in the wild
Packed in her reverie
Doting the scent of love
Muffled up with old melodies and
Few muffins to eat
Those hushed leaves made most hissing
If ever one's heart could hear it
The breeze witnessed her traces
The dampen soil inscribes
She won't come home
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Lullaby of life
Quilt of ardours and lee sides
Bed of Foxtail Orchids
Melody of a song
You made me a cosy nest to rest
Before I fall slumber
The forenoon
I open my eyes
It was just a dream
How the monsters awaiting
For my flesh
Their victual on the platter for supper
'a little sac of pixie dust
i wish i would have
sprinkle all over and be it
a fairyland of nod of my own'
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
Rongali bihu
Rong cascading down
the days around April fifteenth
jotted over the almanac
(Rong bihu or Rongali bihu, the Assamese gala)
luring New Year for the Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong gleaned from Vishuvam - the Sanskrit word
Rong elucidates vernal equinox
Rong typifies joy
like lovers discreetly conclave in the cavern
when two bodies melded with one soul
Rong caught a whiff of fresh kopou phool perfume - Foxtail Orchid or Dove Flower
Rong is humble abode of the shameless parasites Cuckoo
enduring the rythym of Assamese peeps and their culture
Rong is the dance of life
Rong is the food celebration
Rong is the offspring of love and happiness
#and in background, I can hear my beloved 80's hit song - 'O Xun Toradoi Nasaba Morom Lagakoi' (O My Dear Beloved Don't Stare Adorably) ...
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
I own the whole eatery.
I drove miles to be here.
The aroma and warmth,
Makes me drool to eat here.
I can never resist the prawn soup!
The spices and hotness
I get indulged in
The sour taste
It is just perfectly cooked
We need food and water,
But certainly the prawn soup provides food for the flavours of life.
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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Shahnaz Islam Poem
What a life be; if without a tint packed with spices
All spices high and mild; nostrils filled with its aroma
Whether flow with the Ganga colliding the bourn,
Or sang with the chirping of the Sparrow sitting on the roofline,
The hot spicy heat prickle of the Ghost Pepper Chilli cuddling the tongue
The wild breeze nudges the chest while walking on the land of Sohra,
What a life be; if without a tint packed with spices
All spices add a pinch; just like sugar and salt an Indian lore
Add spices to the game and flaws
Add spices to the love and lust
Add spices to death and conquer
Add spices to lives and victories
What a life be; if without a tint packed with spices
Critters born and die; but good and bad is inscribed in their graves
Spice are harvest and contained; but the tale of aroma
Begins from my kitchenette and voyaging across the overseas
Copyright © Shahnaz Islam | Year Posted 2020
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