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Tahmid Islam Ridom Poem
If it hurts this way,
know—I never wished it so.
Yet they bury me in blame,
while my soul lies in cinders,
scattered and silent.
They say I never tried,
but the witnesses scream
from the hollows of my eyes,
from tears
no one dared to witness.
I wonder—
where was my fault etched?
If no sin was mine,
why does suffering cling
like a shadow that devours the light?
If nature remembers,
let karma carve them as it carved me.
But here I remain—
drenched in endless rain,
a ghost wandering my own grief,
waiting for a rainbow
that may never rise
Copyright © Tahmid Islam Ridom | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Tahmid Islam Ridom Poem
In a half-broken cup,
coffee settles—calm, silent.
Dead leaves lie scattered on the table,
beside leafless, lifeless trees—
witnesses to dreams long lost,
witnesses to sleepless nights.
On bamboo-paper pages
resides the address of truth.
A chair holds a quiet presence,
and the soul that sits knows
the weight of silent tears.
Unspoken words drift in the morning sky.
Even the night’s moon
understands the ache of solitude.
Copyright © Tahmid Islam Ridom | Year Posted 2025
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