She is a Mother

God, Creation, Good, Evil;

Irony, Paradox shuffled in metaphor,

As SHE is described as a whore.

It pinches everybody and nobody roars.


Prayers devote to impregnate her,

Laws are different for Baboos called Sir.

World, existence, and pledge,

Are definitions in the dictionaries.


Past, present, and future,

Her justice became looser.

Act, laws, and amendments are papers,

Justice is delayed and termed as later.


Visionless means blindness.

Refusal to see is a kindness?

Wake up ! a mother is no whore,

She is a temple standing in valour.

Day 12


#justiceForAsifa #poetryforjustice #Standup4HumanRights

#UnitedNations #GlobalGoals

Photo Courtesy –

Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)


Ocean Dreams

Have you been to an ocean?

yes, I have been.

Me too, in my dreams.

I have read poems,

Seen movies and

The Old Man and The Sea.

The seagulls flying in tides,

Bluewater dancing in the breeze,

Lions guarding the shore.

Fisherman fishing amidst the waves roar.

And a poet creates more.



Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)

Musing ?

About the fairy tales,

Of mini toys like cars and rails,

Smiling at the puppies tail,

Frightening at mommies scale,

Feeding by ghost blackmails,

Eating like a blue whale,

Chocolates, pastries are the fuel,

Teachers seem so cruel.

And a poem completed by a fool.




Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)



The Freshness

Early evening

The tinkling bells

The smell from the dhoop & dhuna ,

Smiling aaita , maa and bou.

The freshness that never fades.

The freshness that creates,

a thousand stories.

The study table perhaps,

unchanged and emotions did.

And again the bell tinkles to say,

a day has just begun.




Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)


The Bed

There lay the flesh and soul

In a mattress and a pillow

Veiled white blowing other shades.

Silence amidst cries

Smile amidst pain.

Unities are defined in an

alien way.

A struggle for life

in an unpenned poem.



Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)




A misty shuddering voice,

Murmurs stories of Alice and Coraline,

Disappeared in the black towel,

A towel around the globe.

Tales told it traditional,

Myths are perhaps cynical.

Fiction,God, myth ,fact,

Is a mystery of untangle acts.

Poet, poem, prophets are veiled,

Gibran, Wordsworth, Donne,

We’re not step-sons,

Created air Everyman exhaled.

The secret broke which My Window unveiled.



Nur Nazibur Rahman (c)

Description of the poem is a mystery I am resolving. Hope comments will help me understand the hidden self in me.