One Hundred Years Of Sadness Poem by Md. Rakibuzzaman Bhuiyan

A century passed, the winds still weep,
Carrying tales that time cannot keep.
Echoes of sorrow, shadows of pain,
Drip from the skies like a lingering rain.

The soil remembers each tear it's known,
Roots tangled deep with cries that've grown.
Mountains stand solemn, silent, and steep,
Holding the grief that the earth cannot sweep.

Faces forgotten, yet whispers remain,
Of lives once vibrant, now etched in disdain.
The sun rose and set a thousand times,
Yet failed to unearth joy's buried chimes.

Wars were waged, and hearts were torn,
Lovers departed, dreams left forlorn.
In the creak of old branches, a mournful refrain,
One hundred years, a dirge's domain.

Children once played where shadows now dwell,
Their laughter drowned in a timeless spell.
The rivers that danced now flow in despair,
Carving their grief through the cold, empty air.

But sadness is patient, and time does bend,
Even the longest sorrow must end.
In the cracks of despair, new seeds will grow,
As the light of tomorrow begins to show.

A century long, the sadness did stay,
Yet hope stirs softly, brushing decay.
One hundred years may bend the heart,
But even from ruins, life will restart.