The Unmarked Grave

The myriads of unmarked graves in the cemetery Presenting miserable image of human heartlessness Uncared and unsung by near, dear all and sundry Forsaken and abandoned, victim of unkindness Which one of them holds my mother’s remains? My angel, my lover, a philosopher, a friend A melancholy child riding rough terrains I for whom her eyes incessantly rained I turned into a pauper with treasure of love gone A symbol of despair with goals unclear Relentless caravan of time said move on And move I did trembling with fear The nature held me by hand and catapulted in the air The voyage of loneliness was hard to endure Groping and fighting I reached where eagles dare With anguish and pain and lost valor The shower of Blessings and silvery rains of grace Hoisted the flag of my fame and glory Winning goals after goals in the formidable race Life writing an enchanting story Yet my eyes with tears blurred and hazed My spirit weeps, my soul cries I pray on all unmarked graves with my hands raised Surely in one of them my mother lies (My mother Begum Najmunnesa was laid to rest in an un-marked grave in Azimpura, Dhaka, Bangladesh. I am that unworthy son who is unable to identify her grave and visit the country to offer prayers)