PM Review

 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.

 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