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Best Poems Written by Abir Hossain Sawran

Below are the all-time best Abir Hossain Sawran poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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The Symphony of Blemishes

In the moonlit tapestry, where the scars unfold,
Silent tales etched in the surface's ground,
Each mark is a chapter, a story untold,
In the silk of time, hope finds its bond.

Whispers of battles, both lost and won,
Carved on the flesh is a map of the soul.
A testament to the war begun,
In the dance of shadows, where wounds are undone.

In the symphony of blemishes, a melody hums,
Echoes of resilience, where pain succumbs.
Your skin is a canvas of profound,
Painted with the hues of attachment, where red inks are unbound.

Through valleys of healing, where strength resides,
The blackness becomes stars in celestial tides.
Embraced with tenderness by hands that care,
My desire weaves a tale beyond compare.

So, let the injury be versed in twilight's vain,
A sacred anthem where reality and dreams convene.
In your veil, a masterpiece unfolds,
Unmatched beauty is a magnificent ache where passion moulds.

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The Unfeasible Expedition

The sheer maintenance of the probability,
Nothing is comparable to our garrulous mendacity.
Nothing can be called a consummate pattern,
Except for any tremendous aching, this life would only be a fallacious earn.

You are just an archetypal passer-by without any aim,
You want to play an unwarranted game.
Your loudest silence is another offence,
In this horrifying reality, you are nothing but an object of pretence.

I am only a creep,
Who cannot conclude anything by hearing a beep.
I am nothing but a remiss whisper,
Who always follows the astute pied pipers.

We are the prerequisites for the uncustomary laws,
You and I are awaiting the perfect pause.
To pause for the first time is to give us a promotion,
To resume our voice is just waiting for the untold damnation.

In my feathers, you will live long,
Throughout the flight to blessed hell, you want to sing an eerie song.
You want to reside in my flawless illusion,
This unfeasible expedition is nothing but a callous vision.

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Until The Death

In the silence of the night, I roam alone,
A solitary soul in a world unknown,
Wrapped in shadows, devoid of sound,
Seeking relief, yet nowhere found.

Isolation grips me, a chilling embrace,
In this vast expanse, I find no grace,
Echoes of existence, fading into the void,
A journey through loneliness, forever deployed.

In the depths of seclusion, I confront my fate,
Bound by time's relentless gait,
Life's transient whispers, fleeting breath,
In this phase's end, I find solace in death.

Embraced by the darkness, I find release,
In the quiet stillness, I am at peace,
No more burden of loneliness to bear,
In the solitude's end, I find freedom's flare.

As the stars fade into eternal night,
I surrender to the inevitable flight,
In the silence of detachment, I take my final breath,
For in the end, attachments come after death.

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Not a Wise Veteran

Why do you want to cling to your enemy?
Why do you want to tag your vanity with purposeless animosity?
Why do you want to claim the refined souls from dead passersby?
Why do you want to pass by your loneliest crimes?

The river Life is not in favour of your mind,
You want to survive until someone calls you a dime.
You want to hide your loneliest sins,
Nobody in this boat can accompany you on this voyage and make you win.

Is your wretched soul truly innocent?
Does it cost more than a cent?
Does it hide behind the curtains?
Is it a puppet without any indispensable circles?

Nobody can survive without any crime,
No soul can live long in the deadliest times,
No water can be boiled without any heat,
No sin can be unseen or omitted in the fiery pit.

You should not have claimed the chance to achieve grotesque fame,
Time is always a conflict in the game.
You must not have dared to conceal the Master's favours by selling your soul to Satan,
By throwing the dice into the river, you cannot be a wise veteran.

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In Solitude's Embrace

In solitude's embrace, freedom thrives,
Away from society's suffocating binds,
Where chains of norms no longer confide,
In silence, the soul's liberation finds.

Amidst the whispers of the silent breeze,
Breaks the shackles of conventional decree,
A solitary journey, where the spirit flees,
To realms untouched, where one is truly free.

Through solitary walks in nature's grace,
The mind unwinds, finds its rightful place,
Away from judgments, away from race,
In loneliness, finding liberty's clutches.

Breaking free from the mold community cast,
In isolation's refuge, shadows are surpassed,
Where individuality reigns unsurpassed,
In seclusion's realm, liberation at last.

So let solitude be the guiding light,
In breaking chains of conformity's might,
For in its depths, the soul takes flight,
And freedom's song echoes through the night.

Details | Abir Hossain Sawran Poem

Better To Be

Better to be an honest and shrewd man than to be an innocent dolt,
Better to be an enlightened pagan than to be a short-sighted piece of flesh and bone,
Better to be a frugal voluptuary than to be an impressionable vagabond,
Better to rule in the streets than to serve in a castle.

Better to be in a crowd than standing alone on an isolated road,
Better to enjoy the rain than to be a parched fowl in the desert,
Better to put on a hat than to stand still in the hail,
Better to be a stern bystander than to live in tremendous ache.

Better to be a sceptic than to be an unsighted tumour,
Better to sit tight than to walk on water,
Better to be a remarkable clickbait than to be a foolish mercenary,
Better to be a judge than to be an instrument of judgment.

Better to be a brute than to be an unspeakable human,
Better to raise the voice than to stay always hushed,
Better to be a revenant than to be a destined passer-by,
Better to be a knight than to be a mere guard.

Better to lie in your own sewer than to sleep in someone else's nursery,
Better to welcome the changes than to stand alone, bearing the ancient typos,
Better to eat alone than to waste at a feast,
Better to be always you than to copy a protagonist.

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The Deceased Man

The false apparatuses are presented on the tiny stage,
The surgeons want to shape up your archaic days.
The larger your poisons are,
The more lethal is their care.

You only care for the austere suggestions,
I want to undergo your sweeping portions.
I want to shake your hand in between infinity,
You want to pull me through this lumbering calamity.

I am another deceased man in this war,
Can you recall the black October?
There is so much rapture in the grave,
You only yearn to be brave.

You are now in a favoured hell,
I want to conjure you back and well.
I want to bring back my old salvation,
Where you were the most cataclysmic passion.

I beg you to wait for me in the uninhabited cave,
I will converge with you soon where you are already paved.
You are situated in your befitting place,
There is awaiting you the perpetual grace.

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A Remarkable Caricature

I am praying for an eternal silence,
Your loudest move is just another offence.
I have been open to you for the longest period,
The interpretation you want to pursue is just making you an idiot. 

I have never been so close to a clown,
I have never felt so wilfully drowned,
I cannot express the audacity to call you an unthinkable pride,
I cannot have the gratitude to be your undying guide. 

I want to lead a life of the fullest norms,
You are just an unknown necessity that I have always seen in silly worms.
You are full of loquacity,
I am nothing to your pertinacity. 

You want to judge the desecrated smile of Monalisa,
I want you to draw a similar structure on your countenance.
Everyone might be perplexed,
I don't want you to be suppressed. 

You might not be a cenotaph of the transparent authority,
I don't want you to be that bargained mendacity.
I want you to walk through a thousand rivers,
To me, this river Life is nothing but a remarkable caricature.

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A Hexed Mirror

In a hexed mirror's gaze, fate twists and turns,
A tangled dance of it's designs,
Each step a labyrinth, and each path it spurns,
As victims caught within its veiled confines.

Reflections fractured, and Moira's refrain,
Echoes of choices made and paths untrod,
Yet fate is a puppeteer which pulls on its chain,
And victims find themselves at mercy's nod.

In shadows cast by this glass's gleam,
The cycle spins by repeating its cruel game,
Each soul ensnared in destiny's relentless stream,
Bound to its whims, and it is forever the same.

Yet amidst the chaos, there is a spark ignites,
A whisper of defiance is a will to strive,
To break the chains and challenge Kismet's rites,
And carve a path where lessons cannot connive.

So let us rise, though fate may cast its spell,
And forge our own destinies anew,
For in the heart's defiance, we shall dwell,
Free from this reflector's dark debut.

Details | Abir Hossain Sawran Poem

The Most Inescapable Desideratum

I will wait for your soft, curled vines,
The fake cascade causes tiny, unspecified water droplets to flow over it.
I will not wait for you to be a destined no man's land,
Nobody could allow you to be begotten by the tiny spikes.

I will wait for your buttery redemption,
With every penance, there is the rise of a new dawn.
Your sighs and sorrows are a tree full of grey leaves,
Except you, nobody can ever discern how thin the pinnacle of your chin is.

Is the river Life an overflowing drain to you?
Does the water flow like a train passing through narrow tunnels?
Is this river filled with empty sirens?
Or are they merely whispers in the language of our gurgles?

Nobody could define your silky cotton mood so well,
I misunderstood your appearance, as tattooed arms seem to be.
I want to rely on your ever-driven heart,
Just as a consummate river flows, bearing no dirt.

Is this river a phase?
Or is it just a stage?
You are the most inescapable desideratum to me,
And I am certainly conceded as an affluent hoarder.