PM Review

  An Art of Leaving Palash Mahmud   When you set foot To cross the door leaving Everything behind. To walk alone. Knowing- No longer you Coming back. Do you feel what you feel? Clipping- Your past with glue Behind the curtain Hanging on the wall at the north corner. Despite your splendid ignorance. Who will be your new past? Have you ever bought any scale? To measure- Who loses whom? In the scratches of an act of leaving 

  Dearly My Sighs Are Hanging by Palash Mahmud Here at the periphery of chaos my longing surrenders into the slant shadows [ earnestly] There in the middle of hatr'd my voice stops on a numb'd note [ weightlessly] In a graceless reign where my way I am losin' [ effortlessly] by a shackl'd ray. In a dried desert where my sighs are hangin' [ dearly] on a poisonous tree.

  Between Two Rivers By Palash Mahmud A man in the force wrestlin’ into the blood of the boy he shot.   The boy’s last breath crept down the stairs of the Turkish Restaurant Over the Sadoun street Immixin’ with the sodden pebbles of Tigris Euphrates.   A woman on the Square Turnin’ into a Cypress tree Metamorphosed 500 bullets into redleaves Engravin’ the names of Hammurabi Nebuchadnezzar Alexander Ali.   A goddess in a glazed brick Gatherin’ in a vigil with Dragon, Bull Lion.   To find a way to drive away the smoke Of chaos, Rockin’ the cradle of civilization.   To define freedom! The most romantic invention In space for whom we Swimin’ into The dialectical lake  

 Cease the Greedy Knives by Palash Mahmud When the sun has scratched a ring of fire up in the air Down here the whistling woods are burning and blare. The more the greener the grasses, the most the deepest The sighs fusing with spouting smokes that are thickest.  When the moon has dropped melting lights down the river Up there the carnival of breath ends in death and dare. The less the size the more the numbers, the less the cruel The more the wounds making the landscapes a charcoal. Yet not we compel the wind to pause the raging line Not even we plead the water not to flush the bristlecone pine. Alas! we are in competition to outnumber moneys than leaves We fail to force the gods, the kings to cease the greedy knives.  At last we have made our own hell sitting on a throne of spike At least the woods, the roots know how the hell looks like.

  A Sunken Soul By Palash Mahmud                                             PC:   Deposits photos In the nights of sorrows she sang the songs of the days of happiness; I slept with empty stomach but had a heart filled with dreams   Since her first breath she suffering the pains rode on the shoulder of her soul till last grasp; she needed more space the earth was less to place her soul adequately   She craved for perpetuity where oblivion resides So she sunk herself only to see the soul the way swam in the water; the eyes were wide open for a long while with great relief   Like Autumn winds drifting aimlessly Life on earth, said in undertones, is stranger than anything

 Let’s Tune the Equal Share by Palash Mahmud Only human who sheds beads of tears for peace For pleasure who kills own kind, who contradicts  Be cruel to be kind as a virtuous crime; who does  Causing death or destruction in the name of peace Like dancing on fire to get a bit of pleasure O mighty creature! what-you-do doesn’t make always  What-you-are; you living in an omnipresent paradox; Tagging the other as anonymous, the minimum  as numberless, disregards the pact we form always like singing in a choir of clamor for fissure  O rabid hearts of placid lands, let’s vapor  The loathing air, let’s tune the equal share

As breezes flowing low By Palash Mahmud                                                              Photo Credit: Pixabay I sailin’ back through the same passage I standin’ up under the old bridges.   What you know?   Those chantin’ branches of dead trees Whispered your fadin’ name on edges As breezes flowin’ low.   Those lost stingin’ summer days Those gone sneezin’ winter nights. Those fallin’ leaves turn’d ashes Those floatin’ clouds turn’d leashes.   What a crime not to remind your name! What a shame not to recite your rhyme! Your name merged in my shades-   Never mind.   Your face unseen through my senses   Never mind.   As I went the passage you came so.   How I know?   We will not see either ever- When everything is feelin’ Who cares the not-seein’?