Hasan Maruf

Silent Keys

For eons piano keys unmoved Lay silently asleep

White-eyed Corpse

The beast bellowed below Mushfiq’s bedroom window, propelling rushes of tingles within him. He smiled.

Will-o’-the-Wisp

The sky to the west and overhead is mired in darkness; but to the east, light is gleaming out like a jasper stone, as clear as crystal.

Favourite season

Showers and storms give way To a surge of sunlight A fragrance of hope floats in On morning breeze

Rendezvous with the Devil

Carving mysterious runes with bones A pentagram etched in my soul Pulling on the blistered sinews Of Desperately unrestrained sins

He joined the army at eighteen; a soldier through and through. He was tall, sturdy, ruddy-faced, and almost always urbane. Mahmud was my neighbour for nearly five years. He had moved from barely inhabited hilly terrain of Khagrachhari to the city of a heightened breeding place, old Dhaka. His decision to leave the vacuous and soulless life of the barrack could be being closer to his own children– all of them were assumed to be in their primes.

She-wolf

The forest was still in the early hours of a cold autumn morning. The silence was broken only by the breeze through the trees and the restless trickling of a stream running through the middle of a clearing.

The Spider

Nobody was around in the grey end of a Sunday. I strolled past the deserted park; the swings and slide failed to evoke the joy of old. The park looked cold, sequestered, and threatening in the dim light. It was strange and eerie to see not a soul there!

December 21, 2019

Speak with Ceaseless Spark; Speak to Leave an Indelible Mark

“Let thy speech be better than silence, or be silent,” said Dionysius of Halicarnassus. While realizing the essence of this sagacious saying, we can readily conclude that good English speaker is rarer than hens’ teeth in these regions of the world where there is an outlandish, preternatural and almost spurious cultural supposition that having a kingly command of the English language is rather an odious pageantry of colonial aggrandizement.

October 26, 2019

Tears of Dying Calm

I separate the bleeding stars

September 7, 2019

THE MUSE

Each writer born must have a muse, Or so I’m told, for if they do, And if they should, do they know how To let it in or haven’t found

August 3, 2019

Ocean bloom

Aqua blooming ripples of ocean, wisping hair

May 4, 2019

Empty buckets

Strolling through a concrete jungle

January 5, 2019

The Bench

The bench was deceivingly inconspicuous with its chipped paint and creaky wood. It practically promised that if I sat on it, I could enjoy a feisty lunch in a brown paper bag and watch the pigeons fight over crumbs without any life altering events. Yet sometimes the unexpected happens in the most ordinary of places.

September 16, 2017