by Mozid Mahmud
Blowing through graveyard’s skeleton you whistle of night
Waking a bit I further fall asleep amidst familiar corpse
In your left hand lantern of the sun in darkness
And with emptiness of right hand
Continue moving us
Born blind angel’s gigantic iron rod comes down frequently
On our remolded head
The people you stuck with Tomahawk
And innumerable buffaloes on gun end
Today raising waves they stand behind you
You drink their that filtered water with cupped hands
And the ruins of the hand coming out of skeleton’s body
Keeps your chin swaying.