Bright light-drops enter into the solitude of the room
Clouds gather on the cornices of the house.

It rains incessantly. I see verses of words and sounds
Float on the water all over the floor
Lame and destitute words of the broken rhymes
Accumulate in corner of the room
Torn pages of poem come out, like lightning
Piercing dark unborn flicker of lightening
As if this time reaches me, the glory of creations
I look up to the sky, my face and eyes
Dazzle with the light of lightening in four walls
Sounds and echoes are born
Antiquity I go to the table and stoop in reverence
And collect all those torn words
Every morning I arrange a new poem of twenty-first century
And thus I become perfect everyday.




Translated by: Siddique Mahmudur Rahman

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