A poem by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam
Who likes to build a home in the grave, though
we know Home is where we have to gather grace?
No one celebrates grave-digging, but graves
are dug every day—some turn into ashes too!
You’ve seen how they dig graves for their
loved ones—there’s rhythm in grave-digging.
How engrossedly the grave diggers lift spades,
dig deep, without grogginess or annoyance!
Cadence doesn’t always produce music!
You know how the grave shines in poetry:
The grave’s a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Still vultures wait for a dead body. We see
how humans are shot dead, like birds.
Statistics probably fails to count you and me!
How many graves make a country a graveyard?
Mohammad Shafiqul Islam is a poet and translator. He teaches English at Shahjalal University of Science and Technology, Sylhet.