In This City

M.R. Mizan

In this city of spring I have faced life

And I have learnt to live.

My sweat is poured in her streets

And I won it all,

Soaked in her rain.

Sweat drops brought me to the addiction of rain.

I thought rain was my sweat.

My sweat turns villages into civilization.

I drew pictures in her eyes.

I built her a beautiful urban landscape.

In this city, I bled

And sped the wings of my dreams too.

My memories are lost in the pain of labour.

Afternoons of familiar stories and laughter forgotten.

Thirst is hidden behind blank smiles and courteous lies

But she is still alive in heart - a lifelong wait.


Zebra Crossing

Zakir Hossain Khokan

I flew to another country, and I can’t breathe sometimes

And then I wished to stand by the road, idly watching people again

So I stood beside a zebra crossing,

A place I heard, which had many people come and go

And I watch them walking, in their fancy dresses

I look at their faces, their footsteps, and footprints

But could not find anyone inside of them.

Beside a lifeless wall

I write down these day by day

In rain or shine

Flowers blossom nonetheless, and the scent of those flowers

Wafts through the air all over the city.

I see, someone attaching the label “POET” to my name.

I remain quiet.

Standing beside the zebra crossing

In a hopeful watch over humankind.


Force Field

Naive L. Gascon

as your silhouette approaches the lamp post

a maze appears and runs through my skin

in this place of dim lights, trade and celebration

where feet never come to sleep and die

we have five thousand four hundred breaths to spend

my core trembles as i preserve my calm expression

while you navigate our way to the next bend

our words muddle in dust and snoring cars

we fell into sighs and silence

as my ribcage was melting

I was thinking of that line tha6


In Exile

Mahbub Hasan Dipu

I am there,

where I am not supposed to be.

Captivated by mockeries,

I am the man

that I did not want to become,

who lives in a prison cell, at -

31, Street 2, Sungei Kadut.

With the machines, we bury

our hopes and dreams in the forest of concrete columns,

walls and beams.

I become oblivious

beholding this nests of lonely souls

and towers kissing the sun.

I never know

whether dreams would meet reality

in this turbulent exile, far away from home,

neither do I perceive the schism between

residents and immigrants!

Why are immigrant lives exiled?

What do I look for in the streets

of this city of dream,

though I am confined in a cell, at -

31, Street 2, Sungei Kadut.

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