Orbit

The stars in their orbits

are lit by the imposed beacons.

Only you have continuously moved yourself

from the orbit—

In a circle of a thousand great ages;

The boundary of the path

is an endless pitch darkness.

Your accumulated brain is drained in the illusion of illusion;

The sensors of the brain are useless—lifeless robotic characters,

Invisible manholes at the bends of each galaxy,

A trap is waiting—a giant wave of scratching.

Innumerable drones circle your circle,

Keeping constant watch;

Monitoring your movements and course.

Where you have built a mansion of tranquility,

By pressing the button on the remote, you will absorb the pieces of the iceberg;

The desired ice water will melt in your brain server.

Look—

Every one of your limbs is trembling,

Shaking in fear of missiles.

Hydrogen and helium are full

The time for your existence to be destroyed is approaching

However, you are enjoying the mouth of death due to your carelessness.

The life takers are aiming at the sniper’s barrel.

Measuring the algorithm of time, the high vision of the hawk

Continuously approaching—intoxicated with prey.

Mohammad Qutubuddin.

24.08.2026 

Mohammad Kutubuddin is CEO of Skymode International. He’s also a poet, editor, and writer. He’s the Chief Advisor at Novo Joti News and Founder of the National Writers Council. Also, he’s a Central Member of the Nationalist Writers’ Forum.