Classic Poem

The Dhaka city will be flooded, passing through the water
The poets and lovers will assemble at National Book Centre
But the rain didn’t fall. Orb-shaped sun crossed the whole sky
Like a burning globe until evening, when it set in the west
Burning-red colour spread all over the sky
A lots of question hang over the shades of the sky-rise trees
Some dreams dropped down like evening dews
Lake of my entrails swing like a glass of water
I wanted to touch them but found each of these
Are swimming like water-birds. The auditorium of
The National Book Centre filled with chirping of thousand birds
They’re snatching the tastes of rain from the coffin of memory
But there’s no sounds of rain, In the second day of Ashasrh, Sweaty Tareq was busy with the scorches of summer,
Handed over a cheap printed booklets of poems of rain
I laughed at the size and modesty of the souvenir
Tareq understood, but didn’t make any comment
I leafed into one and two of its pages and saw
The sky of the pages of the newsprint is full of cloud full of rain
And all on a sudden the rain started to fall on my hands
I looked at the auditorium and saw incessant rain engulfed it
Drenched in rain I went up the stage, the twittering has stopped
Never-ending torrents fell like waterfall with deafening sounds.