A Poet understands their language of pain,
Who shed a drop or two of their tear,
Silently, here or there,
And wiping off their wet eyes,
Try to look composed wearing a pale smile.
A poet hears the silent sigh
Of the woman in the kitchen,
Who thinks of her beloved one,
While cooking for others, and
Wishes she could feed him.
A poet can see the colorful dreams
Of the maiden who draws
Her beloved’s face on her note book,
And thinks of it as a colorful kite,
While doing homework on a solitary night.
A poet knows the reason why,
The dare devil youth in the neighborhood
Suddenly becomes quiet and composed,
Recites poetry of Rumi or Kahlil Gibran,
And behaves like a polished gentleman.
A Poet understands who a man might think of,
When he pauses for a while buttoning his shirt,
And gets lost for a moment,
But comes back,
Gets ready and drives away to work.
Dhaka
20 December 2015
Copyright Reserved.
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