O Irik
No one is here
In this office room
Without me to feel you lonely
To you and your naive movement
I'm immolated just; I look at your simplicity
And fall in your love
Table, chair, computer, tube-light
Calling bell, daily attendance- nothing is
in my sense of dream but you
In your unadorned face
I find my easy life, the rhyme of the poem
the rhythm of a living song, the current of breaths
No eye can contact you directly
But your wandering whispers to my heart
Where the bell of love rings as
I love you, O Irik
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
28/05/2023
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