Running Out of Other People’s Money

Running Out of Other People’s Money

রাজনীতি এখন পরিবর্তন হয়েছে

All the civil servants wake up before dawn: the sweepers jharoo dust bowls; the police men chew paan; the police women ask their colleagues if they happen to have change for rickshaw fare.

এখন হরতাল ডাকলে হয় না।

They precede us like nationhood precedes the citizen.

মানুষ এখন বুঝে গেছে। মানুষ উন্নয়ন চায়।

The gas hikes would be expected to ricochet off tea stalls, into dhabas and into living rooms if they could get past the check posts. But the burners are best forgotten. Though they will tolerate the kerosene: the customary burning of the tire. Proceed.

যারা হরতাল ডাকে তারাও বোঝে হরতাল হবে না।

The first time around Shahbag, correspondents mic up: traffic is lean কিন্তু স্বাভাবিক

The second time after Katabon signal, things come to a halt. They are watching. There are shuffles. Shirts are pulled. Words are said. Wooden benches staff the roundabout. No one get’s through.  Maybe later. But not now. Pedestrians are curious. The bullhorn guides the uninitiated. Motorists are bemused. Those in the backseats sympathize but are ultimately annoyed (defaced is the word the Editor’s Council recommends)

 একটি দলকে যদি ধারাবাহিক ভাবে ক্ষমতায় না রাখা যায় তাহলে উন্নয়ন হবে না।

The third time,  we come back after looping round Ruposhi Bangla. The constable looks at his watch. Load up. It’s rush hour.

Quotes: This;

নারীবান্ধব or Legislating Rape.

নারীবান্ধব or Legislating Rape.

Hon. Meher Afroz Chumki,


I cannot appeal to your children.

The mind does, after all, afford compartments:

The hospitality lounge at Hazrat Shahjalal

if you pay American Express: the Madonna of credit;

the backhand pet,

the kiss flaying the ghumta for yours:

the sister; the mother; the daughter;

During the voice vote.

You do think of them.

During Mr. Imam’s protestations.

You do remember them.

But in the private house,

not just the shanty playing  L’Enfant terrible,

she is subject to eminent domain:

যেখানে ‘আমাদের দেশের মানুষ বাল্যবিবাহের কুফল সম্পর্কে জানেন’

যেখানে পুরুষ মাগি গালি দিয়ে বাসায় ফিরতে পারেন

উনি জানেন ‘কিন্তু মানেন না।’


We must endure.

The Mollah Paribar

whose daughter goes into labor

in the middle of her SSC exams;

can we assign her to desserts,

the salish where flesh is judiciary?

No, you don’t have to.

One does not flinch at corpses after the war.

১৪ ফাল্গুন, ১৪২৩

Photograph: CJ Clarke/Save the Children-

The girl in the photo is May Yoi Ching Marma






Rampal, I love you.

Rampal, I love you.

To occupy
Tear gas canister skidding off speed-breakers like warsaw pact skaters shining for the Motherland.
Except they didn’t tread the swamps, half-kneed
or wince at warlords farming shrimp inside fences
from satellite states.
They circled back: heroes,
cut queue at Mcdonalds
But where were the MoUs signed?
In double entendre:
I am alive, and so must be the lightbulb,

  • over the dock
  • flickering convulsions
  • Bagerhat in cold turkey
  • And. Pop.

Even if it is not my lightbulb.

To backstroke
Off canons,
even those descended from the mirage.
Chili had paraded back in January from its historic betrayal:
weighing European palettes with jungles,
the base of the tikka masala,
the banana leaf served as platter,
the bamboo timber hollowed for kung-pao.

Menus will spell out the Green Line
pruned from the yoke of the Raj:
Lobster Thermidor; Kacchi Biryani; Aloo Bokhara;
The Palestinian with the rock is the right of return.
The Bangladeshi hurling bricks is the riot begging APCs.

To indigenize 
Peregrines at shahbag

Irrawadys at Gonobhaban

At the dais, with a fistful of rubber slugs,
let me repeat:

  • The Pasur will leak electricity as the estuary peals off Mukti-Joddher Chetona.
  • The fishermen will be brides at Gaye holuds presided over by transmission towers.
  • The silt thrown up by dredgers will resurrect the crust of public housing.
  • The mangroves will have their roots beam entrepreneurial.

And that Humus will be the stepchild of coal.


All Quiet

All Quiet

Blue raincoats
like shawls draped
Over shanties,
An inflection point for the generals
Who have for decades fought co-option of the 969
By liberal arts journals,

House Arrest
Your father’s colonial struggle
Has been amended to serve
In the trenches
Infested with secession,

Naf Nodi culls
Observation towers
Sandbags gunned Type-81
Jihad: a transaction,
Un-licensed brokers
Federal grants
Issuing annexation

The watering hole is
Contoured as a red light district
With the UNHCR’s
Revolving door policy of look don’t touch
For locals after a day of swindling Reagan Democrats

The Sequel
Longest stretch of tombs on earth,
A buffet of deck chairs
Umbrella peddlers
And coconuts for tourists
To etiolate their quota of
Third world unforeseens

Photograph: Christophe Archambault/AFP

24 days in february

24 days in february


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

Permaculture and Craft

Permaculture and Craft


I could not tell

If the desire to be known

Was a good desire.

A desire held firm, in the natural.

In the facts and the timetables, i had failed in.

Or, whether the very contemplations of these questions were rationalisations

For my body, being grounded in the infirm.

Because the impostor can never recognize herself.

The mirror splits in two, or three, or fourteen

The tributaries forbid any attachment.
And, is born the writer who writes for herself.

Herself, channeling her ancestors who poured their jugs of sweat onto their typewriters, to rid them of the, or their, subconscious. To rid them from questions of photojournalists, and blog writers, who inquired, that

As a woman, as a lesbian, as a welfare recipient, a public housing adherent, how does it…

And by this point the rest of the question turns into a froth of inconsequentials, required for column inches.

You must write. You must do politics. You must love police precincts in firestorms. And you must write it in 0s and 1s; write about programming, fingers treating garments, toddlers drooling into bibs, witches being burnt at the empty rice bowl, the quarters of divestment, the suburbs of flight, the immolated without literacy, pangs out reaching for press-conferences, and love without the blackmail tugging viscous at expression,  at friends-nights-out. at bare shoulder. at drag. at stroke. at throe, at grandma cradling grandson, like overpass sleeping bags clench their fists for cash, or how my pillow was the scene of my first time. when i learned about the euphemism. not when he can spread his legs in the cage,

and so, what are the joys of married life?

To missing riding pillion

To missing riding pillion

For who,
crowdfunders are sourcing rape
Through borders
To satiate the insatiated,

Sourcing them, penny-less from the 14th,
where foundation patina from 40s government buildings reek to reveal culture.

culture, where rapist as thirst and whore as assassination are equal reckless abandon,
culture, where tradition and science are sync, in brutalizing polls, flow charts and
Pies stating in cold, or cold as mined warm, data, where, when, the who never in question, situationally, rape has and must occur. Occur as passive ultra-natural boomerangs to wardrobes to history’s excluded suffrage.
Where all your sons are the darwan’s sons,
The dalit’s sons,
The tea worker’s sons,
The beggar’s son watching brioche buns dive in and out of LEDs.

Your comments section, your indents proclaiming sovereignty for the male breadwinner, are empty shells, for
Whores in detention, upending the dais, the desktops reading commandments, scratching the chalkboards:

No rapists. Only cultures.
No rapists. Only cultures.

Photograph: Hengameh Golestan



Kalo, ta se jotoi kalo hok/

dekhechi tar kalo horin chokh/

professional disqualification from leer lear of jatiyo pita–


jekhane, ek strok-er rugi

banner fibre choking down her cheeks,

asks how can you pretend to be as thin as a rake,

acid makha natok.

acid makha natok-er clavicle roop scene-er-por-scene bodlay,

porda dakhe villain-er hashi,

mota, badha, dari,

mota, kintu khola, thakur-er board-er tali


bole na, je cut, ba action, ba

tin, dui, ek,


apni age sikhen kivabe bacha poida hoy, tarpor likhen,

tarpor bolen, je,

lagay dile koiben rickshaw lagay dise,

tarpor bolen, je,

part of the imperialist project was the decimation of,

–ami samrajobad-er shontan–

 –rokter mashe, apni ingreji ucharon shikhan,–

–ey bar apni korbanir mangsho bihari camp e diye ashben–

naoka bashay diben?

ar ki, naoka, oder bhashiye niye gheleo ki, ora naoka korbe ?/?

ora, naoka korbe, ar mizan, mamoon, hannan, mithu, badal o chacha,

purbo pakistaner septic tankir opor,

tader namei

rashtror, ki, duniar, jubok, juboki

der shadhin ghoshona kora hobe.

ghoshona kora hobe,

that your windows will never be tinted beyond 40 percentile points, because

administration knows you faster, harder, and deeper than you can stretch your hand down your vanity
bag, never mind, that you, or I, will never know why vanity bags, are vanity bags, and not modesty bags, or humility bags, or reserve, quiet, and shy bags, or

chintai. chintai.




airborne, centrifugal–the missionaries are coming; the missionaries are here

airborne, centrifugal–the missionaries are coming; the missionaries are here

Qandil Mounts.

Priyo kochu shag,
Where would you be, but hearthed in the sahib’s tandoor
Stick lapping chin,
Expression of Interest fluttering manger,

Puffing alluvials from the surface, from the teeth of Alliance Fraincaise’s pleas for “we have to charge 500 for entry,

karon khet mujur der dite hobe”

Chunarughat er special economic zone hok kintu okhane hok, okhane, okhane, away from life, as we have known, away from the sheaths of our sickles, and where our thumbs don’t ring with dreams of dreams of malnutrition,


Ultras peak– Badsha rajshashi theke workers party niye esheche, kintu na,
Uni dhaka, sathkira, protek bhumi rakkha commitir uppojati ahobayok hoye eshechen,
“duniar mojdur ek howe, ek howe, na” hasan bhai bolen, oi hasan jini marx er chetona ek jon 19 bochori ke bujhate chesta korchilen, kal rate, oi eki raate onar walton motorcycle jongole lukhio porlo, never to be seen again; ekhon marx ney, akhon shudi illiteracy.
monajat dhori amra, baddho hoi.


Is there rope?

That is our position on voting against the boat.

Amader lash er upor diye.

How would one then go about convincing oneself that it is somehow possible that ek shondhar pangla-ghontay biplob ghoshona hobe?


Photograph: Jani na

atrium: ze anthropocene

atrium: ze anthropocene
petrochemicals propel
black Daesh/white Daesh/
purple Free Syrian Daesh,
knightsbridge's high-octane milkshakes
cruise to drive-in theaters of Sca-lextric Emirati Fillipino Mcdonalds' happy meal get2get1free Yaas Marina auto-domes.
your Ankle monitor stinks truffle oiled calamari, 
your caviar selfies
urgent plumes of 
manchester, Paris, Monaco to descend underneath Harrods,

a 37-minute firework show shall inaugurate cannonades of difference, strafings of difference, blitzkriegs of liberation, 
look out, Gerry Adams in a ski-mask
vacate to sanatorium,
dip your toes in the infirmaries' window extra virgin dressing,
you could say chanel,
you could also say burberry,
or hermès, or prada,
you might say the Qatar Investment Authority,
you might say 2022's sandstorm illustrations hauling trucks pushpulling skeletal chassis,
divesting Nepali, 
hurling maoists at salafist hari karis--

I want to know,
tell me,
tell me, that, 
our sweatshops are better than their sweatshops
Photograph: Dougie Wallace




I. putain–

’68, Demo Nat Convention

We, here, hear, with voice vote, trumpet
To replicate natural eco-systems,
Whereby cordage is bound to toddlers,
Textbook dibosh,
Field trips to a dozen-1 mark-comm execs coordinating the unbolting of bottle-caps,
Simplifying as complicated, Ford’s strongholds in Detroit,
And thus,
And so, follows,
Autonomen, setting up,

II. salope–


Send Ray-Gun Home on a Cruise

Nollendorfplatz, you are walking along butter-knife arêtes,

Haig you are the import,

the Import of,

mud and dirt and spit and gush of Junction City, caroling heresies of changjin reservoir

at your 1st Infantry Division, at your X-Corps, at your godful MacArthur,

and your picnic baskets carrying chirping meat cleavers to suharto’s undesired laundry to pashtun scions’ versions of basic democracy,

and you, thanksgiving to hearth, to sons and daughter, to patricia, who donated monthly to pink-washed Iroquois settlements,


your pentagon conferences name asphyxiates as tourists

Bra-less, we are

Abayas, we are


৩. স্ত্রীকুকুর

  • Azad Kashmir Balochistan,
  • Azad BalochistanKashmir,
  • Azad Nagaland, Parbatya Chattagram,
  • Azad, Parbaya Chattagram, Assam






–an alloy of disjointed curmudgeon-slugged people who care about other people, because they care about themselves.

pancreatic emulsion,

The Surgeon General’s white paper on fetal procedure


Photograph: the Anti-Fas?

কবলিত! কবলিত! Sonderkommando

কবলিত! কবলিত! Sonderkommando

Pastiche, like all the others


-that said, they, not her,

not it, not foil archs,

makin’ bubble wrap,

memoir qwerty,

duel-speech balloon-duel

foil, not it, they, anti-thesise,

row, row, row, syntax,

Purr, as verb,


cell, vichy, cell, vichy, cell,

encrypt notre-dame

à cult de la raison ,

Today’s screening, overhead:



Action T4–

whether real or imagined,

Der Gefangene! Gefangence!

Wenn es einen Gott gibt muß er mich um Verzeihung bitten.



Muselmann, Inquilab,

scrap the Long Kesh off,

my, Soft Grip Wall Paper Stripper




on their 2am circumnavigations,

cumulative spunk, splat, plop,



babe, it’s

cold outside,

a roofie, for your thoughts

Those Incorrigibles, Those.

bur lesque quick feet, step-over,

lacan, won’t you please stand by the partisans,

Maquis: Mairéad

Amar khat ta dehi nore, ma, nipur,
6.7, and feints, and feints,
Recess our shovels,
Hydroelectric surjo sen er bangla never so fine,
Shake and hips, and hips,

And step, and ease,
Isshor, popover, kilos,
Collaborators, interchangeably
poristitir shikar


Le Meridian. Read about in Harper’s Bazaar.
–late edition, extra, extra. East Pakistani boiled egg, and seven, and eight,

Cymbal crash,
Picket Line,
strike enunciate,
Alamgir, get off your quota,

Have you lost your daughter to Revere’s merrill gel smudging found fathers?

Nuremberg, Nuremberg,
Who will precede your anchor chops,
Nuremberg, Nuremberg,
Tribunal-thwart house of saud,
Paltan, purana Paltan,
Tomar tak e dekhi phensedyl,
haat e dekhi ashbari,
chetonay shuni Pathankhot,
Shib Naryan er jhulanto srom,

Tui, razakar, Tui, razakar,
Ar stadium er bayonet jukti,
gola kata tangail er Sher er slan er jukti,
Is the one my mother woke up to:-

Done. Salaudin. Done. Mujaheed,
Done cartographer,


উন্নয়ন, Ara। উন্নয়ন.

উন্নয়ন, Ara। উন্নয়ন.

Rose butt–Any cigarette or anything of it’s family.

Silkworms spin mountain peaks

As they wear, during dog days,


Piston fillip,

armpits–dead sea.


But why? Must i talk about the heat that pins itself onto bulletin boards boards, sweltering parlance scrolling past DSE tickers,

about the anchor’s ocean-bed, scrambling the brains of submersibles everywhere,

Sat bonereased with tv-dinner-trays–clicking punchcut white noise, rainbow signals–themselves dressed, baptized fried chickens–born agains with GMO stickers.

ballot initiatives on a 1..and-a..2..and-a..1..2..3..4..Priyo DorshokBondhu we are investigating our yaba popping cabals, GAZI TV is in no associated with these proceedings–237-5 as the reserve sweep banglawashes us into the junkies of Walton Bikes countrywide–Please do not menstruate on the couch, and if you must, at least look like a doll ;)–I see diamond mines, you see me–Stars are regional hegemony, but the items are a cocktease–exhaust your nationalism, AT ATTENTION FOR THE ANTHEM, please.

Photograph:- Camilo José Vergara



XII. Nobodies

XII. Nobodies


The nobodies:

To Galeano

But also to yourself, who tries to understand.

Textbooks are for learning, to give to

nobody’s children, owners of nothing


The nobodies: the no-ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way

But textbooks are for cutting garmentwallahthroats in their sleep, for the ones

 Who are not, but could be. Who don’t speak languages, but dialects

Because art galleries don’t pay minimum wage; textbooks are for

Who don’t have religions, but superstitions

–Overhung microphones swinging for a purpose,

Who don’t create art, but handicrafts. Who don’t have culture, but folklore. Who are not human beings, but human resources

Who are Section 144’s fashi chai Mussolinis but in countries where the trains forgot to run on time.

Who do not have faces, but arms. Who do not have names, but numbers,

Where “Yaar muje bhuk lagri hae” appears as white noise.

Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the crime reports of the local paper

On the pigeon holed, left-field, cubicles in the tabloid section, where Ershad’s fists slam the tinted windows, when the CMH psych ward sodomizes our gun-wielding, porn-addict, forever unable to use a keyboard to masturbate.

  The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.









Don’t have your passport sown to a كَندورَة , when you are out in a tight dress to get hit on by

Abood & Hamoods.


NaPoWriMo: Day 12