Ashraf ul Alam Shikder

The twinge of the poet's motherhood

The poetry is not a one those comes out as the air
One need to keep ten directions opens on all four sides
For poetry to come; Eyes, nose, ears all need to be open
Compassion in the heart; poetry is the vessel for the pain
Poetry is the place to shout louder silently

Mountain, forest, bloom, sun and moon also
Love, affair, hatred, loneliness, misery and happiness
Rebellion, slogan, solution's soul is the poetry
Poetry is a tool of war
And the weapon to spread the P|eace

Poetry does not comes out as easy as the air
Be ready for poetry, sit back relax and wait
All the day and night
Some times with the patience of motherhood
For Nine months or few more days


  • jarcher54

    Thanks for shouting out silently in such a thoughtful form. Several thoughts are so well expressed here I feel honored to have stumbled on them. I wish more people were ready for poetry... it goes through them as if they were ghosts, they are so busy getting and spending, they make no time. Poetry is the place to shout out silently... yes, shouts of joy, discovery, anguish, and despair. The English World War I poets come to mind, or the misfit thief Francois Villon scandalizing polite, cold society and the relentless police. Homer trying to bring Odysseus home or let Priam bury the disfigured, filthy remains of his son Hector. Very nice!

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