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Mitel Chakma Mar 2015
Me and you ---
In imagination we fly
Through the softly smoky sky & afar.
Every moment you touch I can feel.
Lovely delicate your voice & whispering.

Roaming my mind recklessly
Under your shadow, wherever you go.
Memories with you as my best gift that lives you.
As long as I can take breath.
Mitel Chakma Mar 2015
I don’t have love for my life
even a bit –––
But I’m afraid of suicide.
Oh! DEATH come to me.
Take me to you.
And pull me into the endless dark.
And set me free forever.
From the pain I always suffer.
Mitel Chakma Dec 2014
Today, around 10 am of 20 Feb 2010.
For me, new time stared, then.
No wind blowing on the hill.
And no bird chirping.
Instead, bullets shooting –
And shouting, screaming, fulfill.
No places for me to escape.
Houses, shelters burnt to ashes.

Mountain of "Furomon", "Jamoshuk" standing with its glory.
Rugged street, crossing river, ivy tress lost its beauty.
Instead, obscured bodies laid down on the road.
Blood! Blood! Everywhere.
Someone command burn the house
And someone screaming
Help! Help! Please Help!
My father is chopped!
By chance, a sound from the crowd.
FIRE Ta! Ta! Ta! (Sound of gun)
Then blood and blood there, again somebody laid down.

No water swoops down from the white stream.
No gleaming hilly lady appears on the crag of hills.
No footprints laid down on the street of bazaar.
Even no midnight fisher man’s song on the "Karnafully" River.

No mother can still stop her screaming.
Not even my sister can stop her tear.
Ceaseless moan of them softly echoed in "CHT’s" air.

No wind of change for thousand years more.
No smile on their face, not even song of hope.
No law and right, no identity for us.
Whom are we waiting for?
I don’t even know what for.
"CHT’s" = "Chittagong Hill Tracts consists of three hill districts in Bangladesh. "Furomon",  "Jamoshuk" = name of the hill in Chittagong Hill Tracts, Bangladesh.  "Karnafully" = name of a river.
Mitel Chakma Dec 2014
Past! I lost no good to me.
Future! Toward full of anxiety.
Happiness! It’s a short time guest.
Death! End of life and reality.

I am a wanderer no aim.
And like to see dream whole time.
No racism and killing –
Nor religion and country.
In my every dream I see.
Mitel Chakma Dec 2014
Many days I spent running after somnambulist shadows
Which sometimes seems as closer as my heart.
And it sometimes looks stumper and hoax.

The word of thy mysterious gazing at me.
Many times I went to you to ask for.
But I was failed and knee to your stubborn.

Your adamant makes me afar infinite miles from you.
Everything what you have seems ruth to me –
And that ousted me from your heart forever.

Thousand more times I tried to disclose
The meaning of my amorous feelings for you.
Thousand more times I kissed you through the wind.
I don’t know those are reached at you or not.  

I feel you always and all time –
When the blue stars shiver in the distance sky.
When the mid-night wind sings around.
In middle of the night of Spring when leafs fall down.
I can hear your delicate voice always and everywhere.
Though I know in my heart, you’re no longer.

I forgot the Class, Society, Religion, Country and Community.
And I made a drastic mistake.
Mitel Chakma Nov 2014
I feel today’s wind very familiar to me.
The wind blowing around me.
Leaves falling down from trees.
The starry night with moon’s shine in distance sky.
Orange jasmine spreads aroma in the yard.
In near distance, sound of moth coming softly to my ear.
Sleepy eyes get drunken slowly in whisky lullaby.

Outside of my window looks clear in moonlight.
As far as my sight goes and I think the world gets slept.
Many questions arose in my heart –

If tomorrow never comes!
If the sun never rises up!

The place beneath mango trees gets darkest.
And the moon hides behind three’s dense hedges.
In infinite far, star glittering I see through my window.
But they’re transient will get faded by dawn.

Hope singing drastically never stops ever.
If the huge storm is there.
No more strength my legs can bear.
For uncertain walking year to year.  

Colorful people and colorful mind.
For self-interest someone comes close –
And someone goes.
And some women become night pillow.
And the people every time being sold out.  

Thousand miles I have to go I know.
Thousand more battles I have to face I know.
And I have to fight with me I know.

— The End —