Pain expands at the expense of my chime.
My life rattles failing to gauge the amplitude of trials.
Doors on the both sides of the life and afterlife
creak in anonymous pain.
Carelessly I tramped on the path.
Now carefully I groan
seeing the mushrooming pain
on the both sides.
Pain knows my name.
My monologue isn’t a monologue.
My soliloquy isn’t a soliloquy.
Anonymous pain hears everything
from dust to dust.
I feel squeezed and dried
I cry barren,
I cry in the God’s acre
deprived of my intriguing apartment
and the crafty piece of land in the capital.
July 8, 2019
BAUST, Saidpur, Nilphamari