Disassembling your vertebra,
Into sepulchers hooking anchors to the bed of your mismated imagines, through mute button, where you are struck by baby i am tired, or a morsel of eggs, roti, and a before you sip, you realize some metaphor about the ocean throwing up eroticisms only infrequently, and these infrequencies are the ones you tune in for, along the tracks to the west of the burial estate, where you hope you die cradling yours, and yours what the state-schools taught you a factory-line would look like, and the same party line you toe in your jackfruit for teacher contribution to throw back at you at the engineering geometry set, yours, contribution to society, yours, yours, girl as future as past-wife tugging your arm for pocket money, as you bite your teeth and become your father thinking as your son, as a caricature of change as caring-center, as heart-beat in February’s fields, whatever that means–
A mediation on the Boyfriend.
Robi nilkhet abasik elaka,
Sedan’s Front bumper in tundra,
the ambulance limps off of terminal reds counting cyclical to 199 and back to peanuts shelling, thudding, at one with a tarmac in seige.
Your chocolate, chewing gum eyes belie your hatred of rom-coms, and the hawker pelts you a dozen, but not before your bargain reaffirms the story of men. And chivalry places herself beside you, and she is heard dislocating her execution from narrative, because the narrative is the groom as the magistrate takes off his shoes, and the synthesis of the abortion clinic sans reciept, brewing ballast, no cargo of slut or 8 weeks, or 9 weeks, or 9 months, which as sam bee pointed is a caesarian in parlance, and the narrative of ultra freedom presented with billboards dripping in supervision of basting syringes, garlanded by sanitary napkins;
Kintu, Amar chai sheratai, tai amar jonno only the means of machinery on the farmland; the antiseptic vikrampur mistir bhander can rollick in his meadows, with his ironed, dress, and the tint-sangbadics chained to a uturn with islamophobia walkie talkies, will cobble manuscripts
For minivans giving out am_rosh thumping to rokto lal, rokto lal, rokto lal
Sumaiya-r proti shagor
proud sponsor of
Onar ta birochito amar ta to shorochito.
Sama-on bollo apnar kobita chara ar kono kobita porina. Shomoy nai.
Ripon ideal college er hoye keno dhaka colleger shamne gelo. Ey shahosh niye labaid er intern-daktar ra onek gayan dilen. Oni keno eden college gelen na, jeta ekti dharmik purush er kache theke asha kora jay. Shudu mehmaner jonno noy. Cashew nut biscit birat mullo-hrash-er jonno. Jonno
Dokhin city corporation moyla wala ke 3 tar shomoy ashte boleche. Uni eshechen 10 tay, ekti shushil chakor-er kach theke ja asha kora jay, to shey ek dhok dharalo pani pan kore, bharot-er etihash shomporko boi khujte gelen.
Onar age, boro chul chilo. Uni bolen kintu boro chul rakhle biye hoy na. Meye ra pochondo kore na. To onar ekhon choto chul. Uni amader chul katte nished korlen.
To Dhaka, je onek kotha bolle.
In descending order, no chronology.
Tsc-ir bathroom er pechon, ek khachay cricket,
Rickshaw wallar theng-e lathi,
Marjan-er hate mic, mic e shunay dilder-er paris kabbo,
Boi melar majhe,
A police-watch-lamp clinging to a visibly irritated orchid of comms equipment. Like in the hills, where the bushes were the hotbed of checkpoints curried in chalk: SHIBIR, with pretense.
the SATV reporter who inquired the wisdom of using anti-bangla on 20th February.
First as language, then as cane
Proti shong-jogey nirapotta,
Like in aid packages,
Slingshot off aircraft carriers,
swimming with a coast guard escort,
Stamped with the longshoreman’s exemption from import duty,
And this is all assuming there is a humanitarian corridor, and the third world nation in question has not crucified the United nations In last night’s state of the union, with hashtag “foreign interests,” or worse, hashtag “foreign vested interests”
The Stall is a cowlick
But those are pipe dreams. Power doles dissertations, with one hand tied behind it’s means of production, on the importance of hard work and that there is no such thing as entitlement–in this world, it will add.
This dissertation is not written, rather it is reproduced in the iotas where rats in television store cheese, or the breakup one can lighthouse from weeks ahead; so you will see it in the nuclear family strong-arming it’s daughter on the societal pitfalls of marrying outside the caste, and happens regardless of the amount of years in bride school; this will usually be accompanied by the claimed foreboding coercions that are gossips, and so like the prime meridian “amar mey hoyle ekta thappor ditam” or “mere feltam,” and finally consolation “thak bhabi,” and expunction, where she will be known and thought to exist, but through constant replication of the discourse of the fallen Madonna distilled through the male gaze will be extinct or at the very least archived.
Sayeed Kokhon protigha korechen je uni onar babar nam niben na.
Because, the inheritance tax is a 100%
Artwork by Rahad Mahmud