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)
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