by Sayed Jamil

When I used to kiss Synthy’s lips, her hole would get wet. I want to compose a righteous book about the relation between Mouth and Hole.

Walking between life and pain I often shake hands with cheaters and bastards.

Slap the hell out of death. Now that huffy son of a bitch has turned his back on me.

I’ll turn life into coins and smoke cigarettes with it. Make sounds while lighting the match. I’ll exhale the smoke and laugh out like Doctor Syed Al doggy.

“How’re the days going?” – Familiar people ask. I reply, as like as an aero plane above the head.

I’m suffering from a god-damned disease like watching the sky. And that dumb fuck philosopher shirks after giving the wrong explanation of life.

About the Poet

Sayed Jamil, Bangladeshi poet, is another noteworthy but controversial poet of new generation. His two published books are, Rashtrabirodhi Guitar (Antinationalist Guitar) and kaykauser Chhele (The Son of Kaykaus).

(Illustration by Razib Datta)

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