I want to be words of poem
give me preamble on alphabets of my love
I want to be sentences of poem
give me understanding on rhetoric
and prosody of my beloved
I want to be passion of poem
give me literal home of my heart
I want to be mystery of poem
give me unembroidered painting of wisdom
I want to be youthful power of poem
give me unopposed writings of hand
I want to be juvenile fragrance of poem
give me indomitable color of pen
I want to be roots of poem
give me vivacious eternal life of paper
I want to be endless time being of poem
give me full of you o’ dear
and I’ll write fairly you there
certainly you'll find my love everywhere
-January 08, 2019 Chattogram
The way morning bleeds through to night.
My thoughts are a quiet park
free of whimsical birdsong and children’s laughter
on Saturday afternoon’s eternal summer.
From the bench you’re on a quilted ridge
sleek as a southern hiccup weaving through cedar
where pine needles flourish by your dimming light.
I sink softly, a freshly formed puddle
fallen below. The sky unembroidered.