Desired Pain
When he told me to give happiness
Then I wanted-
Please, give me pain;
Make a fuss
hard as like as Sidr.
Like as an uprooted tree
with the cry of landless loneliness.
Give me sorrow;
Like as fluffy mud
in the emptiness of cultivated land-
Primitive tale which is filled with
glaireous wild smell.
Feeling happiness is meaningless game ;
Retouch of past Rafkhata.
Presented cagey happiness is blanket wrap of mourning-
So which you will give me later
Or else I wanted it before.
Aklima Ankhi, poet, storyteller and translator from Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla.She is a post graduate in English Literature. As a profession she is a Lecturer in English.
ANOTHER SPRING NIGHT IN FARMERSVILLE, OHIO
The sun is a gong hung low across the sky,
windswept.earthdirty.sunwhipped: farmers wait inside their bones
for the horizon to rise and beat the daylights out of the sun
and call them from their long dungrows for a night.
Your chastity's a song sung slow through long nights
on muffled virginals: muting babies wailing to be born:
golden arrows, a thong-strung bow the dream night.
The night is calling: strong, gung-ho -- black hawk in flight.
(Tonight? When one earthtired husbandman works me in his hands
& periods this dry chaste day, waters these furrows hungry from famine?
But no.
Just one more wrongtongued crow in flight.)
AH! NIGHTS
Ah! Nights you were a harem
and I the unmade Bedouin too long in the thirst.
Past the black eunuch of the night
I would steal to your tent,
unarmed save the single arrow in my quiver.
I'd draw sensuously back your damascene veil
and let fly my shaft
deep into your bulls eye arabesque--
Or: you were queen of the hive
and I a drone among the honeys
getting a buzz on and doing my job
plunging among the dusky clover
trying to pollinate the skies
to flower the night with stars.
To lose my only stinger would be to die--
Or else: you were madonna
awaiting your Jealous Commanding God,
The Spawner Of The Cosmos,
Beam Of Light Made Flesh To Hold You In Your Place
(while you shook in rapture for the coming of your Lord,
i a small choirboy would steal into your unguarded churchyard
and send a solitary firework into the cathedral's secret hole
and hope it explodes high up in those beribbèd vaults
and surprise celibate fathers from their sleep).
EITHER ALZHEIMER'S OR THE LIGHTNING BLAST
Whizzdizzyingly
cruising The Moment,
arrowing past all awareness:
highway,enginewhiine,steeringwheeltrafficWorldsmuginnnngg past
while we, preoccupied, reprise Creation,
absorb Eternity and Logos, Eden/Gethsemane, Genesis-Apocalypse
and the Night the Night,
the private bleeding into the general,
and Ouruniverse proxying for ego.
Glorious cosmic fusion in an infinite minute.
(or so it briefly eternally seems in our infini-tiny microverse)
The ends of love
are but two
:your V8 plunges from the surface
and, crucified like a butterfly in time,
helpless consciousness heightened,
you hover in slowmotion witness
to the juggernaut earth's decay
just as your metal-again grille
begins to embrace solidity
or: doomed foresight eludes
as you rearend that lightless
semi-tr
MY WIFE
My wife is the flag
placed on climbers' highest crags.
My wife is the mirror
who patrols my appearance
and makes sure all is fit
and I'm vetted to grace the public.
She's the armorer
who's forged our love and honor.
My wife is the ear
who grants the pre-clearance
for my poems' weight and wit
so they're ready to face the critics.
My wife is that fire
to kindle and quell desire.
WHAT I DID LEARN
My mansard roof -- its shingles
lost so very long ago.
In Lhasa at Your temple,
at that brave school in Lisbon,
I studied my imago.
My music group's hit singles
stopped so many songs ago.
I've learned my shakes and wrinkles
but still I wait for wisdom.
Crying is foreign to me because I refuse to be weak,
but you, for some reason can bring me to my knees.
And yes, I do try to hide it, but not very well.
Now that my smile is small, it hides nothing.
Everyone can tell that deep down I am drowning
along with you, and there is no glory in that.
No, love can’t be the same, but maybe it can be made stronger..
So, I put down my pride and say with all that is in me
as I stand before you with no shame and tell you,
“I am still in love with you!”. And in my vulnerable state say,
“I don’t want to hide anymore behind this fake smile.”
“Forgive my pride and stubbornness, but my heart has suffered
much in life and it is hard to show vulnerability.”
Before I turn and walk away, I will ask you once only and then no more…
“Shall we try again?”
Hope Restored
When we met, you were in a painful state
Someone before me had stolen the joy within you
You thought she was “the one”
But she crushed you, instead
You lost everything, including yourself
She never cherished your being
In your darkest hour, she left you
I found you broken; with a sobbing and painful soul
You were in need of a pure love
It took a long time for you to let down your walls
You began to trust me, then you smiled at me one day
I never pushed you or demanded anything from you
Our friendship grew and you became my best friend
I saw joy in your life again
I rejoiced with every smile
From friendship grew love..
A pure love that expects nothing in return but a smile;
The unconditional love and respect that you deserved
All I ever wanted was to see hope restored in your life
But I ended up with far more.
Autumn With You
Autumn has always been my favorite time of year
It’s relaxing sitting in the sun along with you, Dear
The days are now more quiet like a silent bereaving
The end of a scorching Summer is readily leaving
Taking walks hand in hand, watching our neighbors raking
as the aroma of cinnamon bring memories of baking
I welcome the deep colors that amaze my eyes
as we sit on our porch and take in the trees and blue skies
Limbs slightly blow in the breeze as a few leaves fare
creating a sense of peace within me like a whispering prayer
The sky is so clear, bright stars I can see
I lean back against you with your arms around me
As we watch another sunset from our porch swing tonight
I am thankful being with you in the Autumn Moonlight.
Biography
Kristy Ann Raines, born April 9, born in California, in the United States, is a poet/writer/author, who is very versatile in her writing and internationally acclaimed.
From fantasy and love, to serious subjects such as, domestic violence, and human rights. Her passion is writing children’s books, short stories and romantic poetry. Kristy has earned many awards and has five book that she is working on. One will be published soon.
The Love Castle
Life is so beautiful, you are mine
You laugh out, the morning sun smiles on
You touch me and I survive in the morning breeze
The waves of the ocean run through in the veins
I become forgetful
The building stands on before us
The world can see the beauty of The Taj Mahal at Agra
The love castle - the eternal love story.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
28 October, 2023
In the Autumn Morning
How sweet the morning breeze!
In this autumn morning
No firefighting, no dismal display
Over the natural sight
The birds chirping near me
The sweet scent of the roses
The grass flowers on the bushes
All smile on at my bare foot walk by the way
By the river side and lake
I walk on and the autumn beauty welcomes me
The soft blowing of the catkins waving on the heart
The colorful butterflies and
The open sky round circle birds over head
Celebrating the bright morning
In my turning home feeling nostalgic to be with the childhood age
How wonderful the lambs and ducks on the ground and lake!
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
31 October, 2023
Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of writings such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home abroad. His English writings have been being published in an International Online Magazine - Synchronized Chaos from America for seven years. He is a father of two daughters. He is living with his family at Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
***
prison instead of help
coexistence instead of love
unnecessary reform
one coffee and hotel room per person
there are many ways to show your dislike
Reprint by Crank
***
mom sews a vagina for her daughter like a red rag for tears
mom wants soldiers to give flowers to her daughters
the cemetery is silent about flowers
daughter collects khaki and throws it into the toilet
daughter screams that she does not need such flowers
graves are silent about the dead
Reprint by Rat's Ass Review
***
this poem
will not be written
by anyone because the author
will go to the supermarket for vodka
and never come back
Reprint by Tipton poetry journal
***
the leaves don't resent it when you step on them
the bones barely crunch when you do
people barely crunch on such occasions.
death is like a land mine doesn't resent it when you step on it
Reprint by Tipton poetry journal
***
what does the right pike of a suicide exposed to the wind say?
what happens to the frostbitten left cheek?
mother's biblical face turns silky as son pulls out graveyard surprise box from under his bed
***
internet people live the longest
a dog that died ten years ago still puts
likes on social media
instead of its killed dog owner
***
while God is sleeping, the children press all sorts of buttons on his smartphone
and do not understand what this leads to
angels drink living water meanwhile and get drunk
what is the name of the little boy who will never become Jesus Christ?
***
Dynastic hands of the dead
No one will teach palms to cry
Money can't be earned аnd neither can respect
Money and respect can only be stolen from talent
***
What can poetry be talking
about in the 21st century besides blood?
The ruins warm the bodies
of the future dead
***
death allows itself to be late in the form of rain that washes away all the moles from the body
no one allows you to return to childhood with a cheek turned up for a blow
meanwhile the window is slammed shut wide open
meanwhile the birds sew up the sky tightly
time turns into sand from which we built a house
house is grass house is glass
religion trauma of cold speech
torn tongue crunching leaves underfoot
the breathless unborn god underfoot
and above the heads of the airy sky which is no more
***
the little wolf cub is looking for wolf jesus but can't find him
animals are too humane to crucify each other
animals are just physically hungry
***
Jesus received the resurrection
certificate from the hands of the centurion
the dove sat on the arm of the tree
and silently watched
***
there is no more home
ruins play the stones of a scream
There's no more peace because
someone skipped a history lesson
on Hiroshima at school
***
as soon as
і wake up from sleep
і frantically begin to suck
the dick
of my rifle
as if there was no war
EssayThe Ditch
Man is something thrown into the ditch of world history. One day some guy went to get some alcohol at some store and ended up in the hospital. Judging from the pics on instagram, I would have liked this guy, and he also has nice long finger nails. Only I still don't know for sure if he's gay or if he just dresses so provocatively that he gets attacked by scumbags on the streets.
Once a famous poet went to get alcohol in one of the few stores and disappeared. These were the days of Soviet terror. I never understood what wrong this poet had done.
One day a Jew was walking near the palace (probably looking for where to buy alcohol). The guards came up to him and grabbed him. And then, on Nero's orders, the unfortunate Jew was crucified. Why this happened is unclear to me. Perhaps after such an incident Christianity was born.
That's why I don't drink alcohol and use courier delivery as a rule. I also think it is important to note that I want to dye my hair ashy.
I believe that, living in dreams is better than living in this crazy world. Because in your dreams no one can hurt you and no one cannot resist to make your dreams come true. In a word, a person achieves the things he wants in his life, the people he loves and the situations he dreams of even in his imagination. He lives with these dreams. But if these dreams do not exist, some people will have no purpose to live in this life. There are most people, who are happy only with their dreams. There are some people, who have lost their hope in this life. They live in only their dreams.
I used to think that I was one of these people. Because I have gone through many problems and trials. I even stopped dreaming. As if this wide world was too narrow for me. My every day were filled with problems and worries. I even forgot to laugh. I asked myself every day:
” Am I worth this life?”
” Why do I have so many problems?”
” Can not I live happily?”
” Am I such a bad person?”
” When wil this life end?”
I had a lot of questions, but there were not any answers.
In one day, I have overcome my ago. I started thinking about the good things instead of complaining about life. I began to gather new sincere people around me and I spent a lot of time with them. Then, I found that these are starting to help me. After that, I made a lot of great aims and dreams. The main thing is that, I was able to find a reason to live in this crazy life. Well, it was not easy. But I was able to it. I was able to make some of my dreams come true. I thank my dreams for that. When I get tired from problems, worries and bad situations of this life, I made a habit to live in my beautiful fantasy world. I was sure of that, dreams are like trees, they make buds, blooms, wither, shed but sprout again. Therefore, never stop dreaming!
