Martyrs and-slash-or heroes they call us Is it worth all the fuss? While they celebrate We ache to recuperate
I am a god when I am asleep, I am found to be inside the shimmer of water as it fights against the brilliance of the screams that emanate from the sky
The sun goes down every day when it’s meant to be
Kazi Nazrul Islam’s work remains just as relevant and beautiful 123 years after his birth.
It's time to take care of ourselves, both mind and soul, To live a life that is complete and whole.
The curtain rises, silence engulfs the theatre,
You stand where you always have
The blue model of clay vices that sits in a house of glass
She impales the bodies of chickens she prepares for a feast— My mother holds taut the fat clinging to the meat, By the sleight of her hand, separates it, And hurls it into the bin by the kitchen sink.
Martyrs and-slash-or heroes they call us Is it worth all the fuss? While they celebrate We ache to recuperate
I am a god when I am asleep, I am found to be inside the shimmer of water as it fights against the brilliance of the screams that emanate from the sky
The sun goes down every day when it’s meant to be
Kazi Nazrul Islam’s work remains just as relevant and beautiful 123 years after his birth.
It's time to take care of ourselves, both mind and soul, To live a life that is complete and whole.
The curtain rises, silence engulfs the theatre,
You stand where you always have
The blue model of clay vices that sits in a house of glass
She impales the bodies of chickens she prepares for a feast— My mother holds taut the fat clinging to the meat, By the sleight of her hand, separates it, And hurls it into the bin by the kitchen sink.
A dream of me in a sea of green.