This is inferno. It has let loose all the horrors.
We created it and loved or hated it.
...
Not a great work,
other than this act of dying!
To make an end of a beginning—
this, a journey, woven with shadows and light,
...
Everything I have, all borrowed and gifted;
And I owe to the small, high, and great.
Nothing is mine—innocence or crime—
And all that is acquired and inherited;
...
All the crowd is moving, each soul with its rhythm;
The solitary moon with its constellations, the lonely star,
Or a pulsar light-years distant—
All the clouds and the deserted ones,
...
Whatever I do, this or that is destined to happen,
According to Nature's laws, both mutable and immutable,
At His will.
The wind blows, changing its direction;
...
Every moment runs with the wheel of his labor.
His paddling rests on hunger and uncertainties,
earning a livelihood by churning blood into dew drops
glittering upon his forehead.
...
Retired college teacher. Lives at Station Road, Jamalpur in Bangladesh. Has published four books of poetry including one with the title' Inner Voice'. He writes in Bangla, his mother language and also in English, both online and in print media.)
Hound Of Hades
This is inferno. It has let loose all the horrors.
We created it and loved or hated it.
We dreamed of a heaven or a place where
the sun in the day and the moon at night would shine equally.,
We didn't want to be under the same umbrella, but each with our own,
each shadow bright and distinct. Pulse perfect and
throbbing.
But all went wrong, and time is now running counter clockwise.
We are in a mad race, collecting sandalwoods,
flames, and fireballs,
a deathless rebirth. This is hell,
inferno.
All the demons are free
all the serpents.
Evil the curator,
good the worst.
And shards of bitterness pouring in.