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So many hawkers gathered in my neighborhood.
They are trying to sell my
classical wailing at a cheap rate.
You are not among any of the buyers.
The dog did a terrible crime, stole a stale bread and ate it alive.
We should hand it over to the enemy.
Bangladesh authorities say the nearly 30,000 stray dogs are a menace to the city.
https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/8/19/dog-lovers-outraged-over-plans-to-relocate-dhaka-strays
The fog is like a guest bird,
It fluttering its wings in front of my
closed window.
I am forever a pet bonsai tree,
hesitantly embracing the quilt made of snow.
Let love be the global pandemic
And your smile, the only vaccine.
My gaze is forever loyal to your eyes
The  full moon laughed like a ghost
Scared, I collect all the rusty stars.
Light the orphan stars with kerosene
and chase the green darkness of isolation.
In this Capitalist evening
Customers don't care about the new moon anymore
On contrary The full moon's market is so trendy.
So we practice wailing, we who are roofless proletarians.
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