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The Fate of Poetry
AK Azad
[Poet, Lyricist & Essayist, Bangladesh ]
Pigeons fly across the sky of poetry higher,
The vulture comes and grabs the flower like tire.
The arrow hits the bird's chest, made of nickel,
The coolie of the team broke the bird's nest with his sickle.
Where is the rhythm of what? only conflict there,
Partisanship is drawing good practice of poetry into the forest, here.
The nails of the tom-cat are the biggest in the wood,
The pigs say- you aren't of our team, they're hood!
All the venomous serpents threaten with pride,
I am shocked to hear it, they want to bite!
Scale of measuring the talent of the poet to be worker of wing,
Who knows whose seat is lower, whose is higher being!
Power of pen is not a matter to consider now,
The vessel of king Hirak is the scale to measure, how!
No Love, no hugs, no ethics, no philosophy seen,
The interest of moneyed mind is now cultivation.
Whether head or muscle has the power in this fainting time?
What blessings are higher, from the queen of poetry sublime!
The pen is mighter than the sword - was the principle afore,
Now when the pen talks, sword cuts the intestines of lore.
In the garden, the owls measure all the fragrance!
Only Allah knows the fate of poetry, its range!
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