Looking for a place to sleep.
There is one of course, outside.
In a rainy day, it happens
when the rains are shy maidens
and together they become a pillow.
My soul gets wet
I see a pyramid of umbilicus
slowly turns into my mother!

Immigrant

The tomatoes of China market
do not echo the rickshaw-bells
of Dhaka of course.
The city takes a river shape
coiling across my ribs.
I soak I spin and play the flute
of torturous memories.
Only the anonymousness
of crowds lost in the odour
of persimmon.
Trolley no-trolley
all red all moon-bridge
submerge in the Les Murray River.
The first time I died
And the first time I was born!

Language

What can’t I tell you that’s the point.
Glasses have been broken down
long before they are filled. What you see
are fragments of my shadows-
getting marooned and buffered
under the roof of a cosmopolitan circus!
The magpie is a simply a magpie
but when you ask a question
the bird loses its birdness.
Wings falter beak bends like the mark of
A zigzag. And you know always
cucumber grows more greener
in the valley of Lebanon.[tx_divider size=”24″]

About the Poet

Abu Sayeed Obaidullah is a poet from Bangladesh of the 1990s generation. He is the author of six Bangla poetry books and an English poetry book (Thirty Poems) in electronic format. He moved to Australia in 1999 and has been living in Sydney since then.

The post Three Poems by Abu Sayeed Obaidullah first appeared on Prachya Review.