Best Applicant Poems
of the world war (3rd!)
I'm not the forced applicant
I don't wanna be the forced applicant
of the world war (3rd!)
no; I'm not the well-wisher
not the advance receptionist
columnist, they are political analyst
journalist, they are critics of the war
socialist, they are international relationship scientist
they can greet in advance as horror enjoyer
their provocative speech, writings, paintings
as if now decorate the war in advance (3rd!)
far away, have gone far away
the first and second world wars
the earth became the asylum of the universe
oh! pain, sorrow, melancholic days of mother
for her child have gone far away,
waiting days of a new bride for her groom
became the fire on the pyre,
the orphanage became the address of the humanism
now far away, the remembrance of the wars
I'm on the Bay of Bangle,
this sub-continental, inter-continental,
continental birds chirping
soul-stirring and I love independently
of the world war (3rd!)
I'm not the advanced writer
don't wanna be the spokesman
or blood painter
cause-
the vernal breeze here gives me warm embraces,
eyes of the butterflies still here find the flowers,
busy days of ants here teaches me-
" a stitch in time saves nine"
here on this Bay of Bangle
five times Azan of Muazzin from the holy Masjid,
the pleasing sound of the Temple bell,
air balloon in the full moon night of Buddha day,
praying of the holy Easter Sunday
teach me the unity of love and universal brotherhood
I cannot paint in my dictions
the advance blood of world war (3rd!),
I cannot speak advance in my writings
the scheme of world war (3rd!),
I'm not the fertile blind prophet Tiresias
then I'll be liable for that blood war (3rd!)
more than the bloodsucker imperialist politician,
if I write, speak, paint advance the forecast of undesired war
© Mahtab Bangalee
Chattogram
October 22,2019
Thirty hours early for her interview.
Impressive or ludicrous?
She ordered everything on the menu.
Wanted to taste each dish before accepting position.
Is she the new chef? I inquired.
No, a potential hostess.
I stared at the woman.
She looked more like a bouncer.
Will she fit into the skimpy kitty cat uniform? I asked.
And if she does not, will there be a discrimination lawsuit?
We were consternated, confused, worried, concerned.
She are her feast daintily, holding her pinkies up.
Confident that in some way or another it was a win-win for her.
Not her first rodeo apparently.
Should one merely settle for the word ‘Style’
In lieu of the more appropriate ‘Guile’?
A secretary asking an applicant to wait for a while
But still not nearing this anxious file;
Letting the doomed document and others pile,
Sometimes taking this to a shocking mile:
Many false phone calls and not-to connect dial
Freshly asserting how Man has been shoddily vile.
Even when Applicant starts raving, secreting bile,
Feet noisily attacking office tile;
He, mentally wishing for the contents of a poisoned vial
Or resourcefully arguing his case, Fertile River Nile…
It’s all BUREAUCRATIC GUILE!
First humbly comply,
An effort making to apply,
Self assuring that they would reply:
That God shall your needs supply,
Your forms to shorter routes ply.
Yes, first boldly apply
And you’ve succeeded to imply
That you shall never away fly
When “Dear Sir” decides to be sly…
The Doubting Christian Applicant
Sometimes forgets he is a communicant.