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Why do I write poems â Robiul Hasan
Crowds, traffic, slogans, horns, insults, and hurryâ A tumor slowly grows in the head, Planting seeds of sleeplessness in the blood. Like some ancient thirst That burns but stays unreachable in the veins.
Giving in with colorful covers, The tiredness of swallowing anxiety in the cover of peace, Chants and promisesâ All are empty. The hidden essence stays asleep.
Finally, with the whip of words, I broke that womb, Poured out the black-red onto the white paper. In the satisfaction of stopping The liquid lead turns into a drop.
All the poison drips away, smoothing the steep ladder, The forbidden tumor in the head is now a state seal.
Is the poem even up to standard? Worthy of being published in a good magazine or journal? Make an impartial comment. Highlight the mistakes with examples.