Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
It is the year of 2015.
War is ongoing,
society is changing,
secrets are being kept from us,
the human race,
is fading.

It is the year of 2015.
More animals are dying,
more children are crying,
Technology is all that matters.
Let's ignore how the world is crumbling?

It is the year of 2015.
More suicides, self harm.
more murders, crime,
it's not a false alarm.
Mental illness is huge,
men are being ignored,
where is equality,
of this, when will we get bored?

It is the year of 2015.
Police have turned evil,
the government are plotting,
kindness is scarce,
this generation is rotting.
Kids aren't being bought up right,
which will only make their children the same,
and so the cycle will continue,
until we're overpopulated by those inhuman humans,
and the world will go insane.

It is the year of 2015.
The planet is truly failing,
we are working towards nothing -
It is all a big dead end.
But "its fine!", they think,
or at least, so they pretend.
We're mistreating land,
destroying nature,
so why does no one seem to care?
That everything is in danger.



It is the year of 2100.
There is no more laughter,
no more beauty,
only fragments of once beautiful things.
Children no longer have fun,
instead their lives are being run.
We are all under compulsion,
it is all a big dysfunction.
Too little, too late.
Now we all pay for our own past mistakes.

It is the year 2100.
Look at the horror that is now,
I'm sure its made you regret not doing enough,
about how we lost sight of this world.
How people lost sight of themselves:
now everyone is isolated:
can't look eachother in the eye
we walk with our heads down;
some have never seen the sky.

It is the year 2100.
A "gentleman" is no longer,
and since seeing is believing,
no one believes there ever was such a man.
A "lady" has lost all meaning,
there is not one female that could behold such a title anymore.
What is even the point of humanity for?

Childhood.
'What's that?'
You may ask,
And you may know too,
if the twenty first century had allowed it,
childhood really could be beautiful,
and the fact you won't experience it>
I feel so very bad for you.


It is the year 2100.
I'm sorry for what could have been
I'm sorry you never got to see,
how beautiful the world once was.
Never had the chance to explore the world in all its glory.
Never had the chance of freedom.

It is the year 2100.
You see,
Because you live in the twenty second century,
sadly,
you have missed out,
on any chance of possibly living:
Because 2015 was the beginning of the end of the world.
So I'm sorry,
that your slot on this earth wasn't before then,
because anyone living in the world you're in now,
has been born to die,
and for no other reason than that,
because the life you've been given,
is a life not worth living.


-Jazmine MacIntyre
01.09.18
The message here, is basically, ae need to start trying to put this world back together, because if we don't and we just let everything carry on as it is, there won't be  a future. It will be only chaos. You can always do your part to save the world, if everyone did there part, it would no longer need saving, it would only require maintaining.
September Rose Jul 2018
Life and love and death and birth
And peace
And love
On the planet earth
   Is there anything that's worth
More than
Peace
And love
On the planet earth
Mi, fa mi mi, fa mi ti la
ryn Mar 2015
.
     Seems much smaller than I had imagined.
     It only stretches as far as my eyes could
     see.
     It reeks of the past, with no hints of the
     future.
     The present is here, the present is me.

My world tonight...
     Sees me nestled,
     watching silent but with mind
     dishevelled...
     Unnoticed on this kerb...
     Unnamed and unlabelled.

My world tonight...
     Is filled with familiar strangers,
     ushering their lives along.
     I know their faces but not their names.
     I'd call this home but I don't belong.

My world tonight...
     Is spinning regardless...
     It stays on track.
     Never waits for me.
     Never looks back.

My world tonight...
     Has no intention to soothe my thoughts.
     It is baring its bite...
     It's leaving me far behind...
     But I'll catch up at the break of light.



                                        *As I always do...
Daniel eason Oct 2018
As technology advances
What are our chances
To live in an apocalyptic place made out of waste
We will scavenge and hunt for our bread and butter
Most of us will try find shelter, whilst others in the gutter
Does it have to be like this?
Tell me if you had one wish
What will you choose when mother nature needs us
As she is the one who's ever going to feed us
A poem a about humanity's  selfishness and unsustainable living, advances in technology
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
Inside the great
big global village
not everything is rosy
even a cat knows it
a leaf can sniff it.
The Moon shines
not in every night
nor God promised
always a blue sky.
Still the roses bloom
Cinderella has the heap
the reasons to groom.

The richest among the folks
turns philanthropist in the globe.
The wisest among the men
celebrate the era for it’s
the civilisation at its peak.
Hooray what now triumphs at last
is the wisdom and humanity!

Really? O please tell me?
Not very far, nor for much,
just because some differ in faith
mothers and fathers left in pain.
Not because they are to lose
Rohingyan sun nor the land
beneath their feet but in no time
their sons and daughters
can be put to death into fire
that too before their eyes
before the silent established world!
Next page