ভিনদেশী ভাষার কবিতা ২
২১ আগষ্ট, ২০২২
রবিবার

The end was his own call
–
The brightness that shone upon him,
Shines bright today aswell, but as the colour crimson.
The fertile field, has become barren overnight.

Moaning and gasping noise, revolves in his head.
An ally who breaks a man’s trust,
thrusting and poking the man’s affection,
Affection towards the men he owned,
Affection towards the woman he desired,
Affection towards the brotherhood,
that was his own creation.

The man doesn’t trust his allies anymore,
The man doesn’t know how to react anymore,
He reveres his anger now,
He raises his voice to devour,
He raises his hand,
to diminish the bitterness that stung his soul,
pierced his eyes, broke the smile on his face,
And built a new face for him.

Flaming red eyes, he bears, alongside heat in the head
that turned his face gruesome and grumpy.
The vexation he bears, is breaking him,
Breaking his joy from the inner and outer part of his body.

But the man is a culprit, to society,
It’s his own culpability, that he believed a rogue.
Now, the man’s being called antisocial,
Now, he’s being called a brute,
and he is happy to be called one.
Nevertheless, the end was his own call.