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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Now I don’t know what to do anymo'.
I am deep below my own trench,
and still falling into the deep, dark below.

Will I ever hit the bottom?
The point where there’s no further down—
only up? I know I feel like a clown.

But still,

No more confusion.
No more sadness.
Only hope and happiness, I guess.
Peace of mind.
With all the past behind.

I feel lost. I don't feel like me.
I feel like I’m falling.
I feel empty inside me.

- THE END -

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
A poem from the heart of the fall—when you're too deep to see the surface, but still quietly holding out for light. Written from a place of despair, and maybe… the start of healing.
I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I already pulled at my hair.
“It’s normal” he says
I swear just to debate,
cause he doesn’t seem to care.

And I’m bleeding through
my scar tissued skin,
the layers only grew
still I find a way in.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate,
I’ll be down to the last strand.
Check or fold the plays,
the cards aren’t that great
I’ll be down the my last hand.

And I’m bleeding through
my thick nice sweater.
It’s a shame as it’s new
and we’re reaching the cold weather.
It will stain the soft fabric
I may just grab the bleach,
but I always made it a habit
to always keep it just out of reach.

I’m getting greys
at an alarming rate
pretty soon I’ll be bald.
On hot coals she stays,
though she shifts her weight
and watches her soles scald.

And I’m bleeding through
my clogged and blocked pores,
and the remaining few
are becoming septic sores.
I’ll shed another layer
of a non-protective bubble,
and my hair will continue to get greyer,
I think I’m now in some trouble.
Starting to feel my age…
I lay there,
Face pressed into a pillow
Wet with every reason to scream.

“What did I do?”
“What did I do?”
Like a scratched record stuck
On guilt and grief and ******* helplessness.

She said she didn’t want it.
So why did she go through with it?
Why leave me behind
When I was already ruined?

I loved her.
I still do.
I saw us building things—
A life with messy mornings
And laughter so loud it cracked the ceiling.

But she’s married now.
She’s gone.

And I’m still here.
Still breathing.
Still pretending it doesn’t hurt as much as it does.

- THE END -

© 2025 June, Hasanur Rahman Shaikh.
All rights reserved.
A moment caught between heartbreak and healing. When one tries to moves on, but the pain doesn’t.
Walking through the clouds of my own imagination
I tried so hard to be like you, your perfect creation
But life throws out the keys of truth with material devastation
Permanent destruction for a limited elation

And I’m tired now
I’m tired of being me, myself and you

A shattered identity, identical reality
Tiptoeing to tow the line of happiness neutrality
And every time it feels like I finally have found me
Over and over again a painful endless finale

And I tried now
I tried being me, myself, and you

Things seem so black and white until they mix to grey
So many things I wish that I could say
I loved the way you hated but like withered rope I fray
Loose ends never to be tied, life serves an empty tray
And these hollow words I pray
Will today be a happy day?
I have no reason why,
The selfish, in vain, take hold
Of a hope that cannot die,
It’s really getting old

But letting go doesn’t seem to be
In the cards, i can’t play it
On the tip of a thought,
An answer, i can’t say it

And the limits imposed
by the lack of understanding
Makes acceptance the course
And of course, I’m not accepting

Struggling in vain, there’s no other way
Can i at least believe they know i remember.
Nothing i could do
but to Watch, and to pray
Until returning our bodies to clay

I try too hard somehow, without ever even trying
Fruitless is the hand offering semblance to the dying
The greatest minds can't find the cure
What offer could i proffer here
That wouldn't requisite a dejected tear...

In vain, or in vanity
Selfishness or insanity?
No control over desire to
Defeat this infirmity

Should be left to the learned
It's hard to trust the tried.
I couldn’t agree more
On nights like tonight.
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