I Am A Poet Waiting To Be Forgotten. Poem by Masidur Rahaman

The sound of rain invites to explore the unknown world scattered within me.
The dried leaves forecast an impending danger for themselves.
I don't want flowers, give me trees instead.
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The poet is shedding blood.
Not on the battle field.
But on the filed of imagination.
Criss cross thoughts weave webs of haziness.

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I am a poet of nothingness.
I write, I sing, I sometimes dance to the tune of rivers, to the tunes of birds set to return back to their nests.

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I will be seen nowhere like the sound of rain that goes immediately with the over of rainy season and that dried leaf that is waiting to be at the centre of man's ''forgetfulness".