The stars of the eyes are dense fog
In the stars of the eyes,
the dewdrops are accumulating in the dense fog,
I am losing my way in the darkness,
I am crossing the Indus.
The stars of the blue sky are searching for dreams in the folds of the clouds,
I am looking for a life without a life.
In the middle of the road, at the end of the day,
my body and soul are helpless,
The song is lost from my voice due to pride.
Happy Bangla New Year – 1432
Every year 14 April before rising the sun
Bangla New Year Pohela Boisakh starts
With its new light of hope and aspirations
Singing out the song by Rabindranath Tagore
Eso he boisakh eso eso ( welcome o boiasakh welcome welcome)
Chayanot, an artist group at the Ramana Botmul, Dhaka
In so colorful dresses with so many folk songs by others too
This traditional day is celebrated by the whole country
And the other countries of the world where Bangalees live
Regarding its own cultural views, it’s an extra taste of life
Following its past glory, it reflects the people’s ways of life.
The time is for growing new leaves in the branches of the trees
And falling down the old to the ground
The roads and fields with grey leaves decorated like the carpets
That spread to shake hands having a new connection within
The moderate weather farewells the winter season
Saying Good Bye to the decay and infirmity
Coming out from home people sing and dance
The processions with the masks in the faces
Holding so many posters and placards in hands
Reflects the wonderful past
By the way the shops are designed for Halkhata
(Halkhata means paying the debts of the clients it closes the old khata
and opens the new one)
The clients are served with some sweet foods in the shops
Now the things can be seen rarely in the rural areas once hugely in yesteryear
Some play with sticks by the way in a circle
The children make fun in Nagordola (Go round in a circle)
Some prepares soaked rice for breakfast in the morning
Enjoying with green chilies, onion, salt, potato stuffing and fried fishes etc.
The procession with the masks in the faces reflects the past
With the use of fine arts it demonstrates the traditional things
Like the horse carriage, bullock carts, palanquin and so many others
O the last year, go away from us burning the trash in mind
And blaze out the new soft sun with the glory of newness
The perpetual blessings to work.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
13 April, 2025.
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 literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the 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 and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.
City of Others
Three flash-fictions,
More than 90% contents was created by AI [prompt]
1. The Ministry of Lost Things
On the third sublevel of City Hall, where ventilation schematics have long since been swallowed by time, there is an office no one ever asks about.
The Ministry of Lost Things.
It appears on no building plan, yet boxes are constantly being delivered there.
Inside: socks, buttons, names of dead cats, lost dreams, forgotten keys to apartments that no longer exist.
The Minister is a pale man in a dark suit, with a face that seems slightly unfinished — as if the sculptor gave up halfway through.
He never lifts his eyes. He only whispers:
— What have you lost?
The clients vary. Some are looking for umbrellas. Some — for childhood.
One man returned for three years in a row, looking for his lost sense of humor, but each time he received only a receipt… and the faint sound of laughter behind the wall.
— We don’t return things, — they told him.
— We only register the absence.
One day, a child came in. He held a handful of air.
— This was my imaginary friend, — he said. — He disappeared when I grew up.
The Minister looked up from his papers.
For the first time ever.
— You don’t understand, — he said. — You disappeared.
And he just stayed… waiting.
2. The Letter That Never Arrived
Every morning, Edith came to the post office looking for a letter. Since 1957.
She would arrive precisely at 9:03, in a gray coat with a pearl button, walk up to the window, and say the same phrase:
— “Perhaps today.”
Young clerks came and went, aged, retired.
Only Danny — now gray and hunched — remembered that once, in 1957, she really did receive a letter.
She opened it, read it… and froze.
The next day, she came again.
— “Perhaps today,” she said, as if nothing had happened. And she kept coming.
No one knew who the letter had been from.
No one knew what it said.
And she never told.
On her table at home stood a crystal vase. Inside — carefully folded, yellowed with time — was the envelope. Opened. Empty.
3. Dream Registration
A new department opened in the city. Not for complaints, not for taxes. For the registration of dreams.
— Not a storyline, but the right to one, — explained the clerk.
— So that no one later appears in your dreams without permission.
The first to come was a man who, every night, dreamt of the same woman. He didn’t know who she was, but every time he woke up in tears.
— I want to keep her for myself.
— Describe her.
He described her eyes, her voice, the moment of farewell. Without a word, the clerk handed him a form: “Dream No. 14382. Registered. Claims denied.”
Then came a woman who hadn’t dreamt anything in a long time. She demanded compensation.
— For the void.
— That’s not for us. That goes to the neighboring department.
In the corner sat a boy, drawing something on his palm.
— And what are you waiting for?
He didn’t look up.
— I was born in a dream. No one registered me.
By evening, a man in a suit arrived. There was a stamp on his forehead.
— I am a foreign dream. Someone invented me and then forgot about me. I want to be free.
The clerk sighed.
— That’s against the rules. If you become real — who will be held accountable?
— And what if no one answers? — asked the man.
Then the lights in the room went out, and no one ever woke up again.
Embedded Bonus Book
OK. OK. This here flows the muspascat-taculan room used for musing up only.
There you go here you are pull that up and sit click down as;
This flows get inside now please yes Mommy yes the muspascat-taculan room used for musing only.
This the muspascat-taculan room used for only. Canada’s the root source of most rotary conversations knuckle-knuckle insert size medium plath cementeriannatipn here and return in ten minutes
This muspascat-taculan room get inside now please dinner’s ready get inside yes Mommy yes used only.
This room click only. (and once in hair-up yes bones oh yes doctor Smith oh yes and oh yes yes yes yes doctor Smith doctor Smith yes yes yes go by that time it’s not hard set up immediately call for heavily armed back up head’s great, great uncle *what’s that spell what’s that spell* why Gregor that spells there’s a Gregor in the house eh get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes eh eh e there a—ooooooooo GREGOR IN THE HOUSE A ONCEANDFORALLIAN GREGOR IN THE HOUSE sure it hurts what you think sure it hurts, but we got to do it anyway okay all-rat yer-ass sure sure sure it’s I got to do it anyway you happy now get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes Sneezie, it’s not we got to BackWhang! BackWhang! do it it’s just ME got to do it not we but ME ME only and not we but but I can’t see the difference’s a rat anypipe, since we go in they’ll do nothing just watch me do want a whipping a good beating then a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes everything Yes I built three new warehouses BackWhang! on time and in budget no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey Yes I built ten thousand approximately little Black Bakelite boxes on time and in budget | buy me a set of size large purplish trousers | no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey we keep the whippings and the beatings in there BackWhang! but be sure to set them down slowly on our universally credited silver-starred pallets Yes I launched thirteen huge hulls at my shipyard on time and in budget click click click no no liar liar it was US did it all using such devices keeps them fresh keeps them holy you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey no no yes yes no no its maybe maybe no no its yes yes yes yes no no no apportion these back there properly please we forgot we forgot but better late than never
tight slacks or tight trousers big sofa or davenport rocker-recliner please we’re here for hats not hose (particuluplarre)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there we’re sure that’s enough if there’r spares do not trouble to return to inventory for NO its not yes yes no maybe pay two dollars please ; .. ,, I want to keep them fresh and holy Mommy just like you do I also want to too
before eating that one there needs a series of evenly spaced good heavy beatings
h ‘”]{+ GET GAS getting gas’s below me oh yah that there’s way up-top you and looks like they’re getting gas ha ha ha when mother calls and you don’t come in expect a good slap in the face (the bare minimum) Barry swivel! swivel! like this Daddy? “ ., yes like that {behold the McIntyres’ brand new Wok} swivel swivel Wow! Look! Are those fighter planes? do {of which they are so proud} the gauges say we’re full UP yet do day Daddy what do the gauges say ar ne beeo enough in, DADDY? is that you Barry? Is that really, really you?
are we in deep enough now
swivel-pivot
I hope so
no you don’t son hope doesn’t count as a strategy round-about here and environs
Nancy!
What?
Graddieo-o-oooookslaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. Meestah Bo-Peepula’s windows (yah?) grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr couch glandular couches meest’s glandular couches the name of the {which will in their service serve up all future dishes wonderfully hot} conditions who’s condition why your condition of course you’re the one strapped to the machine not I see I am here and you are there and taken together we may be presumed so | Up there! Look up there! They’re so loud! Must be fighter planes! | but that does not mean it is I with the condition by my God and by my word I had such a terrible condition as you, why—I’d immediately drop everything and go get my head examined eh eh eh eh they say quite often to the deviating in some sometimes every very minor way, crap g’eon shit go get your head examined DOC we think here quite securely you need your head examined, yes, no indifferently (write this down skoal) there {I got a date w’ a bunny out back o’ the laundromat} yours appears to be still on (write a checkmark under agency name there skoal {Christ, Ross, a checkmark cannot be an agency name reconsider *} while the patient goes on strapped in patiently waiting having faith in DoC Pantunnio’s pock-mark sheepskin “hung on their wall” saying in script this that and ten others this is indeed the son of God Yup, yup; yup yup yup yup yup yupyupyu[pock-mark pock-mark pock-mark pock pyu[yu[ in that paragraph there honey that’s there go read it |split| tgilasr-trinckular-r-r-r-ianne JESUS Christ, my back itches God DAMN God-d-d-DAMN there’s a tree by this here you may rub it ? this here what this here ? Is your name Lillian James? If so, then, I’ve that there this here ? oh oh those this here’s over there wait no I will go I will go I will go o’er there I will get one * say wise in the cemetery by the Louthurralianne’s churchery I will go get one see? See those there? I swear to God it was one of these graves right round here like a record baby round round right round + oh and so I need that large of a surgery Doc? how far out around when one says right round here how right round are we talking? “?. are we talking just one next grave all around ‘vry direction but {excuse me my friend here and I would each like a few more “injections” of that please and/or thi(a)nk you} why the hell’s such a simple condition required that huge of a surgery Doc doublecheck that out please Doc uh oh please this one here ah I {yes almost just almost but this grave here’s where ‘e count needs to start from +oh yah and okay just shut up and stand corrected surgery Doc? shit surgery Doc? that’s the problem with you and this pack-o-chaps with you, you can’t Navarronned ‘lly just (the guns just the guns) shut the hell up and simply stand corrected o no no n no no now 998&&&$ yes it does matter which grave gets dug in the center ‘cause the anomaly’s there’s that years back in a visit the marker was a quietly unusual wrought iron custom-made cross full of curlicues. See? See? And all painted black in a suit of glossy Rustoleum you know you can picture the kind of black painted wrought iron curlicues what when you rub your finger down them you detect tiny bumps tits and otherwisely defectivities all over the wrought iron, and there was so, so much more to see and to know about it what an interesting grave marker what an interesting on’ BUT it is gone now.
What? My God, no. That is terrible.
Yes, terrible, And, where it is now is, a mystery.
Sure is yes, sure is.
I really want to see it but it seems no longer there.
What a pity.
No longer there.
A pity.
Not there.
Pitiful.
Yes. BackWhang!
Yes.
Yes pitiful Party! Oh, *## simply stand simply stand simply
Foresight Hindsight Intention
Foresight
Favored Dream
Opportunity
Risky Chance
Excitement
Spiritual Hope
Impatience
Gaiety
High Expectations
Take off
Hindsight
Depression
Realization
Emotional Regret
Anguish
Decided Repentance
Once saw a huge chance in life
A dream is a foresight’s wife
Hope to end a current strife
Excited with jewelled knife
Look back seen in clearer light
Could be this could be that bright
Jewelled knife cuts one’s hindsight
One did wrong or one did right
Excitement that builds passion
Regrets grew to depression
Wisdom learned a lesson
All depends on intention
Foresight shows possible way
Hindsight shows another way
Intention weights worth of clay
Wiser for a walk next day
One cannot see the future
Heart shows only its nature
Allow not past to torture
Foresight from hindsight mature.
Ramblings
Brain freeze
Cursor sneeze
Words wheeze
Sherlock’s quiz
Yahoo! Google
Interacting doodle
Gray matter noodle
Uncut fur of poodle
Images of toony
Searching coony
Howls of moony
Dance of a loony
Tippy tipsy tap
Mouse hook to lap
Links of maze map
Disconnected wap
Steaming coffee
Melted bar toffee
Sugar cubes fee
Webbed surfee.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
I WEAR YOUR NET
Empires live by iron and corn
and die in marble and famine.
You brought the starvation and war
that harbingered this, my ruin.
I cannot take my rightful throne;
you hold robe and crown and scepter.
All of my ghosts are made of stone.
I’m the quarry, you’re the sculptor.
When someone asks me why I wear
your net? I thought it my ladder.
I aspire into stratosphere
but you keep me in your cellar.
My voice and my vision are lost
among your parrots and mirrors.
You use your dust and mist and rust
to confuse merit with error.
SOME HORIZON
A poet sits next to G. B. Shaw, unopened.
Poet has no mind to drive his pen.
A momentary rickshaw draws from the mist
but is swallowed back in fog with a stumble and list.
Flirtatious Alpha Centauri beckons to the telescopes
but poet’s flaccid astronomer fails to focus.
All the usual muses are asleep,
the whiskey and the mistresses, strangers in the street;
neither the etchings on the walls nor the scrimshaw on the shelf
volunteer to help.
Empty poet begs along the Word,
laments poetry’s place as kickshaw at the smorgasbord.
And then — poet imagines
Humanity in its dungeon —
unbathed – hungry as a blight —
encaged in rags — in a hint of sunlight —
a detested defiled diseased
tenement for generations of fleas —
the cell’s metal, complicit embrace of laxity —
a skeletal thread against a mildew tapestry —
cornucopia of hopeless hope
that even a poor pen surpasses the sturdy rope,
that any desperate continuing
improves on the endless end,
–that hacksaws and pardons
may exist on some horizon,
dandelion the shackles,
and be lion to jackals.
ERGONOMICS
Sitting aside the curb a=nursing coffee and croissants, I can’t help but marvel at couples passing by. Nearly every boy is just-high enough that her head lies snugly in the fit between his face and shoulder. And this inexorably leads me to reminisce about baseballs, how they used to lodge so comfortably in my fingers’ arc, precisely like the exact hyperbole of your remembered breast.
FRENCH KISS, 1789
A girl like a powdered queen.
Man massive and lean.
A love like a guillotine.
As mundane, as keen.
BLACKENING FACTORY
Magpies harangue
jewelled peacocks
to picket the sky.
The river smiles
below
the pier.
The machinery of sex
processes
our progeny.
Silent silver moonface
ticks
toward overtime.
Dusk goes dark goes dawn goes day goes dusk.
The highway
prays toward
E N dl es ss s::
perspective. Every exit
becomes
just
another
road
the night - the eyes - the sea in the night the eyes see the sea of stars in the night the waves water your pure soul in the night the tears fall from high in the sky in the ocean of feelings turned into silver mysteries ___________________________________________ clarity when I arrived I didn't see you... you were hiding yourself beyond an eon when I came back I saw you in my dream... you were hiding yourself beyond a moment when I left I felt like you've been here... since the dawn of time _________________________________________ dreaming I see in my dream I fall asleep on a cloud I see in my dream I fly to a star I see in my dream I breathe like the moon I see in my dream I live like the sun I see in my dream I get dizzy in the ether up there, very high I see in my dream you haven't gone away I know in my dream you are still here as in any dream of mine ________________________________________ conditional if only I could I would lift you up to heaven if only I could I would walk you in the ether if only I could I'd keep you away from nostalgia if only I could I'd put you to sleep on a cloud if only I could I would baptize you on a star if only I could I would clone your love if only I could I would give you a galaxy if only I could I would dedicate an astro-poem to you _____________________________________________ mirror pure frozen water silver surface water-lilies floating on water reality reincarnated close distance imagined reflection concealed knowledge spiral depth faded concentration radiant symmetry inverted imagination apparition - invention? ___________________________________________