Hell on Earth

I will kill you
In the list – few.

Right is a lie and
Birds have nothing to fly.

Wings are crushed to high,
Ashes blow and cry… (2)

I will kill you
In the list of few…

Wings are crushed to high
Ashes blow and cry..

Love is demon’s cry
Lovers are dying and fly
To the hell and the grace of demise.

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P O E M

Anything can be a poem
A road,
A rose,
or may be a little-tiny Butterfly….
Anything can be a poem.
Poems are like feathers,
They may float in the wind,
Attach with the wings
Or
Being a part of a dream catcher…
Poems can be anything
Which takes over your emotion, expression
And your lust,
A soul that seeks beauty,
A man who walks alone and feel guilty,
A girl who used to be a beauty of the night,
Or
May be a crowd stares at the boy wearing pink or a girl with tattoo on her hand…

A

P
O
E
M
Can be about You.

A

P
O
E
M
Can be about me.

A

P
O
E
M
Can be wild or turn into a bee.

A

P
O
E
M
Can be silent with inner scream.

A

P
O
E
M
Is Nothing but Everything .
It’s our sense, our essence, our existence.

P
O
E
M
is Us and Them, Life and Death, Laughter and Cry, Joy and Pain…….

কৃষক

Bangladesh Village-photography by Sajia Afrin

কৃষক, তোমার লাঙ্গল চালিয়েছো কার বুকে?
বুকে যে শুধু রক্ত ঝরে।
রক্ত তোমার কত লাগে?
রক্তে তোমার ঘাম পরে।
তুমি কাকে ছোটাও ঐ মাটির শরীর চীরে?
চেরা শরীর উর্বর হয় তোমার নির্মমতায়।
নির্মমতা যখন তোমায় খাদ্য দেয়, সুখ কিনে দেয়,
সবাই তাকে স্নেহ করে৷
কিন্তু তুমি পেশাদার খুনি।
উচ্চ লোকে দূর-ছাই করে তাড়িয়ে দেয়।
মালিক তোমার কতই বা মূল্য দেয়!
কষ্ট তোমার ঐ শরীরের ঘাম সাক্ষী হয়ে রয়।
মূল্য তুমি তবু পাবে না,
মূল্য তোমার –
হাতে যায় গোনা।।

  • সাজিয়া আফরিন। 🙂

SHORT STORY

My first short story written in English. Hope to get feedbacks and your review. Read it, and let me know how is it. And advice on my writing if anything is not feel suitable to you. As I am not a professional writer, your response is an important matter for my improvement in writing.

Revenge

I will tell you a wonderful lie 
Where you will live forever. 
I will show you an illusion array
Where you will walk towards and belief on the dark cover.

A lie becomes the truth,
Illusion turns out as the real fairyland.

You live in a fairytale which has been writing from ancient sufferings. 
It's alphabets are magical,
They become the amulets for you 
And you let them be your strength 
Which actually your weakness. 
They feed on your hatred and fear.  
You fall so hard on the ground,
Yet your eyes turn out as blind and your mind as blank. 

I let you enter in a world of nothingness
Where nothing has any meaning.
I let you walk in the dark forest
Which seems like heaven to you.

This is my revenge.
My revenge becomes your happiness.
Alas! You are happy yet don't know you live in a terrible dark abyss.
It is my revenge for snatching my dreams from me and crush me in this real world so hard that I never can dream again. 
So I let you enter in a dreamy world where sufferings are endless yet you never can come back....  
  

The Winter Heart

I still never see the raindrops fall from the cold eyes.

I have never seen the ocean flow in the winter heart

Always the hard mind struggles with flurry wind

As I assume and hope for heart as kind,

And Something good will happen in the heart of them in the end.

Always I try to open my eyes to look behind the lids of white.

The blankness there, reminds the whole dissemble, hiding the truth of emotion,

Where always try to find the tenderness in the heart of cone.

My heart is in moan.

-Sajia. ☺

Plant A Corpse (Poem)

You plant the corpse behind your house,
In the garden full of lavender. In Spring…

You think nobody can smell the rotten skin and flesh.
Even if, by mistaken, your doggy dig it up with it’s nails.

You plant the corpse behind your house,
In the garden as a bed of plants.
You think that will make people mistaken
as you plants many trees.

Perhaps some beautiful flowers hide the stink .

Please let me know if you hear my whisper in the windy libra mornings,
Or at least
Do you see the flower blooms with butterfly wounded wings?

Does the soil become dirt
Or dirt become the soil?

Do you still feel anger
Or feel as royal?

Loathing on your face
Enter into your race.

Hue becomes mine
And flu becomes yours.

Your fear becomes my violet
And the purple turns into the pain.

Oh baby, you just plant me there
And never can forget ever.

I don’t blame you.
May be happy a little bit, as I always the opposite you.

Beside forgetting me,

you choose to suffer.
You let me mold you, give you the pain.

You suffer with it’s infinite realms
And remember me in your mind whole the time.

Oh baby, You kill me with a little knife.

Oh baby, I suffer for a while.

Oh baby, but You choose to suffer for a long, long time

besides forgetting me….

– Me.

Inspired by Eliot’s The Waste Land -“That corpse you planted last year in your garden “