Two poems by Tahmid Wasit
Words from a Winding Sheet
I come from the place of a vast amalgam-
An assembly of my white siblings.
If you look for colors, I bet you'll find none
As I'm bereaved of linings.
I wreathe the man
When he runs out of words.
I acquaint him
When he no longer sees the shining light.
I embrace him tighter
When he is no more.
The man lying over there seems so cold.
He struggled to impart his gratitude.
Others couldn't, but I heard him,
And silently welcomed his solitude.
At a corner of Dhaka city I live,
A corner where people of all races meet.
Look at them, when the sunbeam lowers,
Look at the reflection of their different live colors.
Remember Suchitra Di, who lives over there?
Look at her head.
During the occasions, before their deities
The vermilion over there seems so red.
Look at the sharees my sisters wear,
Look at my brothers' new attire.
Because finally the Eid has come,
And surely, their colors will be spread everywhere.
The Almighty gifted us destitute
And that's what made us different from others.
But is that the only reason why
We are deprived of all those colors?
The poet is a second year student, Barishal Cadet College