Winning poems from 1st Migrant Workers Poetry Competition | TODAYonline

Winning poems from 1st Migrant Workers Poetry Competition | TODAYonline.


Still in the same world, we belong to different spheres

You on that side and me on this:

we can do nothing but remember each other

The memories of you and me hang like posters

on the wall of the Ekushe bookfair

at the doil field, under the shade of the bakul tree at Charukala

at Hakim square, in the hoodless rickshaw

at the florists of Shahbag, at the open field of TSC

on the water of Ramana lake

in a night of shades and lights

on our bed of love


I remember when I returned this time

my heart dissolved in your tears

The pocket of my shirt was wet

Reaching the end of my memories

I wear that shirt every night

and write love poems to you

Do I really write poems

Or do my poems cry with me?

(Zakir Hussain Khokhon)



Maybe I feel something.

A soft heart or a gentle breeze, a sensation

Maybe a night of wakefulness

Shades of light and dark floating in the moonlight


Maybe I am waiting for someone, and someone for me.

Maybe one evening, a garden of clouds would desire me,

only me. In a warm magpie forest,

constellations whisper.


Maybe I am losing myself in a dream

Maybe a generous shade lulls me to sleep in broad daylight

And the vortex of sand and water pulls me in.


Maybe I am waiting at the gates of a kingdom.

Perhaps a bird, a strand of grass hides in my world

The breeze from the sails of the horizon

raising the rhythm through the calm nocturnal sea.


Maybe I will see a kite looking for its string

A paused rain drop, a search

waiting in front of me

Magic has spread a mountain of illusions

calling us by waving discarded feathers


Maybe I will step into the rumblings of a forest

A leaf, a summer, surrounded by the golden sun

on a field full of harvest

A lonely elusive call losing faith and closing its fists.


Maybe I am waiting for a moment

An impression, a smell or an empty house

A feeling of silent tiredness

Walking down the path of prose that excites my soul.

(Rajeeb Shil Jibon)




O Firefly!

Have you also engaged

your daughter to be wed?

Does the fear of dowry

burn in your belly too as fire?



I fell, not knowing how to walk,

you would pick me up


when you fell, unable to walk

I pushed you

away. Regards, the

modern, (un)civilized family


A peculiar disease.

The world’s deadliest afflictions

cancer, AIDS, ebola,

even love

kill by their presence.

Money alone

kills by absence.

(N Rengarajan)


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