"Memories buried in the wavering wash of time"
Here am I resurrecting with faith's glow
“Memories buried in the wavering wash of time”
Thankful for flowing grace along God’s blessing-stream
Awaking my hopeful heart midst miracles ready to unfold.
Vanquishing woes inflicted by yesterday’s agonizing plight.
Here am I, beholding eternity with triumphant bliss
That once succumbed to frustration-despair
Confessing weakness of human nature.
As my physique combats well-being degeneration
Striving to let family-reminiscences prevail
Here am basking around childhood mirth
Marked by loving and caring home.
Oh, I pray* for good health from the Lord
With functional mind and reaching-out hand
To continue my parents’ legacy of kindness glow… since
Here am I awesomely lingering, basking under their memories’ spell.
Philippians 4:6 *Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
May 27, 2025
1st place, "Choose a Line 2" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May; judged on 5/29/2025
My dishwasher is mine; It serves me well.
It makes glassware beam high with prisms of delight: forks sing praises minus grit between their prongs.
It combats the scorched blues: its low bass humming swirls like a river enroute to calm and cleanse.
Though, I am overburdened by platters and grime piled high, I will not be stressed out: My appliance rocks; it leaves no trace of last night's culinary disaster.
It restores impeccable order to the platters that seat our daily bread: it partakes of salt and rinse aid; its rejuvenation.
Surely, there will always be a place for its sleekness in my abode: and my polished nails will take it for granted always.
Oh what power, you little quockerwodger;
Your show’s replay combats lethophobia;
One move leaves the audience curmurring,
the curtain falls they remain spellbound;
Your show’s replay combats lethophobia,
every moment ingrained for all time;
The curtain falls they remain spellbound
held captive within your houppelande;
Every moment ingrained for all time,
stellar performance you just revel in;
Held captive within your houppelande;
simple design woven with wishes;
Stellar performance you just revel in,
instantly taken back years later;
Simple design woven with wishes,
such a display of resistentialism;
Instantly taken back years later,
one move leaves the audience curmurring;
Such a display of resistentialism!
Oh what power, you little quockerwodger.
I refuse to be used as shaytan's play thing,
Whispering for this and that, poking and prodding my pressure points,
To try to get me to give up and to sing the song of sinning,
But unlike a toy which you Push and it makes noise
my soul is fighting to stay up, like a diver coming up from the ocean
All the whispers can't hang, I'm out
You, the devil, are using your scary tricks and keeping up with your promise,
Can't harm me here so you try another way, than another way
But my soul combats you and we'll never give in
Inshallah, as long as this soul is attached to this body my fight
ain't over
Lodged in men are many free gifts
That life gives a push plus its rifts:
Ability to crucial points sift,
As crisis rages painless drift,
In gyms, later in combats swift;
From one's chest problems cleanly lift...
Quartered in us all sorts of gifts
We cannot sell like mundane gifts:
Success in flushing out a rift,
Millions making from Roadside Thrift
Samson's had kept making him swift:
That of Messi the World Cup lifts...
Try one should to discern one's gift,
And when one has done, The World briefed:
Yes, Gifts classed as Talents could hide,
If you choose to them deride.
China seems to say at all times
Great Movie sprouts from The Cheap Crime’s;
From kicked persons who could kick back;
From nimble moves that didn’t slack;
A herald of breathless combats
And plain request men turn Tomcats,
End victory to Innocence,
Because that’s about what makes sense…
America longs to be god
By always checking every odd,
No space granting “” stereotype
That could off dollars from hands wipe…
Yet, sometimes, their pistols are heard,
Now not by Cowboys with their herd,
A badly stretched distanced mother
Ready finally for murder…
It’s an amazing spreading-out
By a unit which hates to rules flout;
In some films makes sure few guns shout
And for best actors for roles scout…
Picture an industry aware
You don’t image sell like a ware.
frozen winter sleeve
blankets the moist dormant earth…
spring gently removes
hints of spring’s sun rise
combats the chill of the night…
winter in meltdown.
hedgerow sprouting buds
the calling of the wheatears…
a butterfly breathes
27/9/2022
Haiku collection of three contest
Sponsor Tania Kitchin
syllable count hms.
...that...
news is about
freedom does matter...
...means...
ultimate freedom goes...
unchecked within theoretical...
...boundaries...
marked as grounds for exploration...
beyond media-public view for profit beyond...
...awareness...
of public conscience that only the richest may finance...
such as a re-arrangement of so-and-so combats-in-nations to...
...re-sew...
what be a general public space-time reality fabric papering all three walls
and seen as a survival of the fittest existence reflecting itself in a media norm...
stans sand
If you knew they would you execute
Would you ugly wars prosecute
And child soldiers recruit?
The thrice- honored far being cute
But now and ever Plain Brute
And The Devilishly Mute?
If you saw combats could yield addicts
Would you pass drug-use-excusing edicts?
All that you did powerfully predict
Trends offering to easily contradict,
More shooting hands hiring,
When you should’ve ceased firing…
Try you they shall for Genocide
And compel to eat herbicide:
An In-The-Midst Weed
They don’t at all need.
fade the tyrant to black
to snap a people's slide to hopeless
when the down trodden gasp for frenzied gulps of air
freedom's fullness lost
authoritarian arms in perversions of civic life
that bash the rush of free expression
when the hatchet faced boss combats thought
like a burning bacteria that drains color from life
Is the brute a man at all but a boot on the world?
blunt force trauma in jaws snapped shut
calculated state control celebrating callousness
to smear malice that slackens one's soul
citizens cower in concealed shelter, encased in
black-boxed fear
eclipse of the sun from the tyrant's grip
sooty nights of sirens wailing
when a protest fist rising means life severed
push back possible in the timeless fury of revolution
from rebellion whispering in moonless corners
but only when a people's survival is a silenced cry
we hear
Poem composed August 28/21
You are a girl with dreams.
A girl with passion and ambition
. A girl who goes crazy over little things. But combats the worst situations with her head held high.
A girl who has boundaries but is never afraid to fly.
You are a person very practical
But never fail to visualise situations that are unreal
A girl who talks witty
But often blurts out things that are silly.
You are a girl sophisticated and crazy, Smart and stupid
Sweet and rude,
Reckless and a prude
You are you... perfect.
So why do you care about these judgemental jerks ha?
Why do you care about a society that is double standard?
Why do care about people who'll you shame you if you're in a short dress;
but call you narrow minded if you're dressed modest?
Why you get hit by the words of people who do nothing but judge?
People who'll exclude you from parties. because you're too idealistic
But **** shame you for wearing a red lipstick?
Babe, remember..
You have to be you no matter what they say,
You have to be you no matter where you stray
You don't have to fit in a format..
You have to be you no matter what..
Exercise combats
the effects of daily stress,
as body gets well.
A coward easily gives up in the morning
And even in the evening:
In brewing fights to lie low
And during skirmishes unhelpfully slow.
Battle strategies offers the hothead,
Courtesy of the war novels by him read
Bu on some secure seat still fastened
Long after combats have been hastened.
A reason to readily stake our big money
And if there’s none our bees’ honey:
That the fire in his eyes will never spark
Nor his voice drop a bull-dog’s bark;
His fists never wire pulverizing punch
Nor his kicks make receivers bunch.
All cowards are warriors never composed,
A chapter right from beginning closed.
( A bit of drama in the garden last week)
The seed was scattered, and not long to wait,
a Blackbird was the first upon the scene,
moments later followed by its mate,
I could tell the former wasn't really keen.
It chased the female off across the grass,
a sharing bird it definitely was not,
Pigeons arrived, they couldn't let this pass
and started quickly gobbling up the lot.
Until a Magpie swooped upon the crowd
from left to right it jinked, chased them away,
to dine with such a bird was not allowed,
it smugly strutted, having won the day.
Just then, a blur of feathers from above
as bravely wading in on the attack,
unlikely was this foe, a Collared Dove
surprisingly, it drove the Magpie back.
Harassing the Magpie 'till it was gone,
leaving the field of battle with a squawk,
The combats all concluded, now just one-
but one was enough for the Sparrowhawk.
decrepit note books
Residential society of poems
hackneyed to ultra fresh thought roams
snail pace of expressions
imbalanced love on tattered ink
lines smile on jackal mustache
through the crystal glass the moon kisses
urban dustbin is empty well
ravens fly on the colorful chicks
ground is shattered field of war
dawn cawing reminds the writing decisions
nothing is outcome of the books
three out of five fingers
one chameleon mind
eyesight combats with insightful arena to lit light
just I reside in these posthumously
note books bear me up anonymously
-Wednesday, June 19, 2019 Chattogram
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