Space For Rent

Space For Rent
Sunday, November 23, 2014, Agrahayan 9, 1421, Muharram 29, 1436 Hijr


Poetry
They killed my words?
Ariful Islam Laskar
Publish Date : 2014-11-23,  Publish Time : 00:00,  View Count : 50

My mouth is full of words but I can't utter
I can't paint the right picture with my words
Censorship curves and curtails me every moment
I can't be the person who I am at present
I am maintained and nurtured by the hands of other
I am shaped and reshaped by my social fathers
I suppress and suppress my words as a snake
Coils itself sensing the fear of being beaten
Or a husband coils himself in front of the showering
Daily demands of an unruly and ambitious wife
My inner words are not voiced and raised rather
Cowed and choked as I read the signboard:
"Condition Apply"
You know, last month, a politician robbed my words
Conditioned me in a bottle and threatened not to mutter
Where should I take refuge as my words need to breath?
Freedom of speech, o my freedom of speech! I shout:
'When did you truly perform your last dance and sprout?'
Since then-don't know from when exactly-and why
I shouted and cried and my eyes smiled, and lips murmured?
Everywhere there is noise and chaos, man and nature
Set themselves up against each other-butcher! butcher!
Dirty devilish dancer
No melodious voice, no music, everything is jibber jabber
Everything is insipid, the sugarcoated philosophy of modernization
The brand new philosophy of change-nothing but flaws
Artillery and machineries have got its words, bombs and bullets
Have given power to talk; where I am? Where you are?
Blood has danced on the streets as words dance in music
Words of Hatred has killed a lot of birds; whereas love is knifed
And whenever a good soul tries to create bondage of love:
An Apparition Appears
A box of apparitions always lurks in our small rented flat
Innocent beautiful ghosts creeps around us all day and night
And we keep ourselves glued to that magic real world
The chatter-box works to us as lullabies once worked to a child
On Silver screen I saw the celebration of competitive nudity
And, they prophesize like evangelic priest, this is art not pornography
Every day we swallow and gallop this civilized high art -
We consume and consume until we become highly civilized pervert:
Hypnotic Hypocrisy Hypes
We dive into a world of carnal fiber, spirituality dies
Though we use a cloak of spirituality to hide our sign of sins -
Satanic verses are applauded to create a creative hype
God's words gets suppressed and to uphold is a modern crime
Every day, every moment we attune ourselves with a chaotic chime
We have started to forget the harmonious rhyme of the shrine
We prefer to confine ourselves in a concrete cubic world
But, we madly shout for freedom; and in the name of freedom
We keep us captive as in ancient times the slaves are forced to do such;
 A terrific beauty marches on, a mysterious truth creeps in and shouts:
Slavery is Freedom!

The poet is Senior Lecturer, ASA University Bangladesh and can be reached at [email protected]





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