May Editor's Choice: "Epitaph"

Each time I reached for wildflowers by the abyssal brink, They drowned beneath the tales that pebbles fail to think.

Desires took flight, breaking banks on either side -

Even crafted verses faded, with no hue left to hide.

Inside my chest, sorrow weeps beneath a sunless flame,

Raindrops vanish quietly on blossoms without a name.

Like a silent whistle buried deep in frozen air,

The sky of dark awakens as stars begin to stare.

On Bakhtiyar's horse, the whip of cruelty swings - Blood sprawls on green grass - what epitaph this brings?

In the museum of the world, echoes only cruelty's cry, While trampled men mourn rights that wither, fade, and die.

Is this then history? Of man? Of civilization's call? Serpents rise with hissing fangs - splitting lanterns fall.

© ALAM MAHBUB

Bangladesh