By Aranna Hasan Delwar
This is an urge to get very close
Thirst to see a little bit, how many things not to say.
Even if you go to the secret, you will find it
In nicknames without a house, in the song of the poem.
The dead waits back, unruly eyes ablaze.
One full of incessant noise
The silent stillness will cry out,
Why is this the night of death? And why?
Some of the ironies of a snatched fortune.
Why this long-term abandonment is as much history.
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