Poetry Such As
Poetry is nothing but the memory of adolescence;
The melancholic face of my mother often remembered by me;
Poetry, the yellow bird sitting alone on a bough of Nim tree;
Poetry, my younger brothers and sisters, sitting sleeplessly
surrounding the fire of leaves; and the return of our father,
ringing bell of his bicycle and his call 'Rabeya! Rabeya! '
Poetry is the southern door kept ajar which got unlocked
by the name of my mother.
Poetry is nothing but going back crossing the foggy way
across the knee-water river. Poetry, the Azan of dawn
or the burning of stubble; it's the expanded smell of sesame
on the belly of cake, the acute smell of fish,
the net spread on the yard and the grassy grave of
in the cluster of bamboo.
Poetry, an unhappy teenager growing up in the
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